


Doorways

by Avalonia



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant Through 5x12, Discussion of Abortion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Season 5, Self-Harm, post 5x12, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalonia/pseuds/Avalonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's long gone.  He's been gone for almost a year now.  Ian knows it's time to let go.</p><p>Except maybe Mickey's not as gone as everyone thinks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> It's not necessary, but you may want to read my one-shot Holes first - it inspired this.

This was pathetic.

Ian told himself that as soon as he turned the corner.  If he had any fucking sense at all, any shred of dignity left, he’d turn back and keep walking.  Go the fuck home and do something productive with his life.

Of course, he told himself this every time he turned onto Trumbull Street on his daily walk home, instead of just continuing straight to his own house.  It never stopped him.

He stopped where the curb still read 1955.  Highly misleading, those faded numbers.  All they heralded now was the vacant lot before Ian, where the small house had once stood.

It was all gone now.  Condemned months and months ago, then two weeks ago the bulldozers had moved in.  Ian had come to watch; he couldn’t help himself.  At least he’d had company then, curious neighbors, giggling children who had cheered when the sides of the house caved in.   He still remembered how his heart seized when the front of the house had fallen away to reveal Mickey’s bedroom walls, still standing.  The gut punch when he saw that every poster, drawing, picture that Mickey had were still there, untouched...at least until the bulldozer’s next pass, when it all fell too in an enormous crash of rubble, huge clouds of dust rising, stinging his eyes.

Ian had come back a couple days later as Tommy’s crew sorted through the rubble.  

“Bunch of fucking hoarders must have lived here,”  one of the construction guys was muttering, half to himself, half to Ian as he shoveled piles into one of the dumpsters that lined the curb.  “House was filled to the brim with junk,”  he added when he saw Ian staring at him.  “They left everything behind.”

Something crinkled lightly underneath Ian’s foot.  He picked it up.

It was his own face, marred now by his dusty footprint.  Ian had picked up the photograph with numb fingers.  Mickey had just left this, left Ian, as easily as he’d left his posters and his old clothes.

Of course he had.  Because Ian had thrown him away without a second glance first.

Ian sighed now, wishing the memory away.  Wishing he could stop thinking about it, remembering, stop caring...for a moment he even wished for those unfeeling months back after he’d broken up with Mickey, his zombie days, where pain was nothing but a vaguely remembered anomaly.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Ian’s head shot up at the teasing tone.  A second later, he realized Sully was standing a few feet away from him, in the middle of the lot.  Next to him was a wheelbarrow full of broken concrete blocks.

“I didn’t think you’d be here again,”  Ian stammered after a moment, looking at the vacant lot, belatedly noticing that the rest of Tommy’s guys were pushing full wheelbarrows of their own, and Tommy himself was driving the backhoe off the lot.  “Thought you guys were all finished here.”

“Had to tear out the foundation,”  Sully shrugged.  “That’s it though,”  he nodded towards the wheelbarrow.  “My work here is done,”  he hesitated for a moment.  “Maybe it’s time for you to be done too,”  he indicated the vacant lot with his chin.  “It’s gone, Gallagher.  Whatever you were holding onto ain’t here anymore.  Kinda pointless to keep coming back.  Believe me, no one else is.”

“Yeah,”  Ian swallowed convulsively.  “You’re right.”

“Hey,”  Sully slapped his shoulder lightly.  “Me and the rest of the guys will be at the Alibi tonight, celebrate finishing the job.  You should join,” he moved forward, lowering his voice.  “I’m pretty sure Jace over there is gay...I caught him checking out my junk in the stalls yesterday.  I can hook you up.”

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Thanks but no thanks, Sully.”

Sully shrugged.  “Yeah, I don’t blame you,”  he shot a contemplative look at Jace.  “If you’re gonna jump on new dick, should probably make it someone actually hot, right?” he snorted before grabbing the wheelbarrow, pushing it away towards the truck parked at the curb.  “Last one in buys the first round!” he yelled to his co-horts and there was an immediate mass exodus towards the vehicle.

* * *

When Ian got home, he went immediately into the kitchen, dropping his full bookbag on the floor.  A few seconds later he was at the table, opening his laptop.  

 _Mickey Milkovich_.

Ian typed the name in the Google search bar, hating himself the whole time.  

“Maybe you should look for recent incarcerations instead,”  the brittle voice said behind him.

Ian slammed the laptop closed and spun around.  “Jesus, Debbie -”  he began.

“What?”  she asked flatly, misinterpreting his surprise at her sudden appearance as defensiveness instead.  “We both know you’re way more likely to find a Milkovich in the Cook County Jail then you are on Facebook.”

Ian looked away at that.

“Or the morgue,” she continued brutally.  “You checked the obituaries lately?  I think you can back date the search,”  she plunged her words like daggers into him.  “Why are you looking at me like that, Ian?  Would it be such a surprise that your ex bled to death after you eviscerated him?”

Ian couldn’t speak.  He couldn’t even draw a breath.  He just stared at his sister.  Debbie stared back coldly, before something in his expression triggered a flash of something on her face.  Guilt, maybe.  She dropped her eyes and looked away, scratching at her arms through her long shirt sleeves.

The sight of it made Ian’s shock drop away, even if there was a new hollow in his chest that would probably never be gone now.  

“They won’t heal if you keep scratching them,”  he said quietly.

Debbie looked up, startled.  “What?”

“Your arms.”

When she continued to stare blankly, he continued.  “You’ve been cutting yourself.”

Debbie started to shake her head frantically but Ian was still reeling from her brutality earlier, and perhaps not above dealing some back.  “You think I don’t know the signs?  I haven’t noticed how you always wear long sleeves now, even when it’s a fucking furnace around here?  Haven’t seen your bloody shirts in the laundry?  Don’t see you scratching?  They itch like a motherfucker when they’re healing - believe me, I know.”  He rolled up his own long sleeve.  Debbie’s eyes grew huge when she saw the long healed, but still red slashes.  She jumped back, mouth open.

“Ian, when?”  she managed finally, blinking rapidly.

“Few months ago.  Before I went back on the meds,” he shrugged.  “You know, I wasn’t even down at the time.  Manic, I guess.  I was lying on the floor at some party, don’t even know where I got the knife.  I remember just kind of flicking it,”  he mimed the motion with his hand.  “Watching myself bleed, opening up another one...thought it was so fucking cool.  I remember laughing...the guy I was with was laughing too.  I woke up the next morning in a pool of blood - thought somebody died.  Then I realized it was me,” he rolled the sleeve down again.

Debbie looked like she was going to be sick.  “It’s just...I’m not doing it anymore,”  she finally choked out.  “It was a phase.  I’ll stop.  I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,”  Ian said quietly.  “Debbie, you need -”  

They were interrupted by the sound of the back door opening.  A few seconds later Fiona stepped in, still wearing her Patsy Pies uniform.  “Hey, you guys -”  she began as she dropped a full plastic grocery bag on the table.

Fiona stopped when she saw their faces.  “What’s going on here?”

Debbie shot Ian a desperate, pleading look.  He tried to ignore it, but when her eyes began to fill with tears, he felt his resolve crumble.

“Nothing,” he muttered.  “Just talking.”

Fiona looked back and forth between them, eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You have class this afternoon?”  she asked Ian.

“Yeah, I’ll be home by 5:30 though.  Need me to make dinner?”  

“Please,”  Fiona looked relieved.  “I’ve got a thousand things to do, plus I’m filling in for Ramona for a few hours after I pick up Liam.  Speaking of which,”  she looked at the clock on the wall and sighed.  “Want to come with me, Debbie?”

“No,”  Debbie snapped.

“You sure?”  Fiona looked at her younger sister hopefully.  “We haven’t spent much time together lately.”

“Yeah, I cry myself to sleep every night about that.  All those valuable life lessons I’m missing out on, like nailing your boss 101 or how much cocaine to give a toddler without killing him.  However will I survive?”  Debbie bit out sarcastically, and with that, she stomped out of the room.

Fiona sighed heavily, watching her go.  “Remember when she used to be sweet?”  she asked, shaking her head.

“She’s not happy,”  Ian said quietly.

“She’s fifteen.  No one’s happy at fifteen,”  Fiona shrugged.  “I don’t take it personally.  Whatever she was saying to you, you gotta shake it off too.  It’s just hormones.”

“Fiona, it’s not -”  Ian broke off, watching his sister massage her temples.  Fiona looked so tired, dark circles under her eyes.  She’d been losing weight lately too, he couldn’t help but notice, and it wasn’t like she had any to spare to begin with.

“Sorry, were you saying something?” Fiona looked back up at him, dropping her hands.

“Nothing,”  Ian shook his head.  Fiona’s shoulders were already caving underneath the burdens she carried.  He couldn’t add another one.  So he’d keep Debbie’s secret - for now.

“I gotta pick up Liam,”  Fiona looked at the clock again and winced.  She squeezed his forearm.  “Remind Debbie not to take off; she’s gotta watch him this afternoon.”

“Sure,”  Ian nodded in agreement as Fiona left without another word.  As the back door banged closed behind her, he sat down again at the table, looking at the closed laptop.

He didn’t open it again.  There was no point.  Sully was right - Mickey was gone.  He wasn’t coming back - there was no reason for him too.  

_Or he’s in jail.  Or dead._

Ian closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head.  The pain burned like fire through his veins for an excruciating moment before he forced the horrible images out of his head.  Mickey wasn’t dead.  Mickey was tough, a survivor.  He’d proven that when he’d left this shitshow behind.  Wherever he was, Mickey was probably far better off, away from the Southside, away from Terry...away from Ian.  It was better this way.

Ian was just going to keep telling himself that.

* * *

“What do you mean, he’s not here?”  Fiona tapped the counter in front of her impatiently.  “This has to be some kind of joke, right?  Or a mix up?  You got the name wrong?  Can you please check again?”

“I’ve already told you four times,”  the receptionist at Sunnyside Preschool looked up at Fiona, barely controlled impatience in her voice.  “Liam is not here.  He’s already been picked up today.”

Fiona closed her eyes, her blood pumping so hard she could feel it, a vein throbbing dangerously in her temple.  She willed herself not to scream.  God, she did not need this shit.  Her feet and her head were both throbbing, she was so tired she could cry, and the nagging worry that had been dogging her since she’d walked on _something_ between Ian and Debbie in the kitchen was making her stomach churn acid.  Now this doe-eyed receptionist was telling her that Liam wasn’t there.  If one goddamn thing couldn’t be easy today, she was going to fucking stab someone.

“That’s not possible,” she kept her voice close to a whisper.  “Because I didn’t pick him up.  And my brother Philip did not pick him up.  So he _has_ to be here.”

“Well, he’s not,”  the receptionist sighed.  She was unfamiliar and young -barely out of college by the looks of it.  Probably a fill in, which made Fiona all the more sure the girl was a dumbass who had no idea what she was talking about.

Or not - the girl had already anticipated Fiona’s next request and was, she’d on the phone, speaking quietly to someone.  After a second she hung up, shooting Fiona a smug smile.  “I told you.  Liam’s teacher says went home sick a few hours ago.”

“Sick?  Why didn’t anyone call us?”  Fiona’s voice jumped up several octaves.

“The teacher says they tried,”  the girl looked like she was physically restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

Fiona closed her eyes in horror.  They probably had....she’d thoughtlessly left her purse lying on the counter at Patsy’s yesterday morning for two damn minutes, only to turn around and find it missing - her money, her phone, everything...gone.  Son of a goddamn bitch.

“Fine then,”  Fiona clenched her teeth so tightly they hurt.  “You couldn’t reach me. Explain then, because it sounds like you are telling me that you sent my brother home -” she sucked in a deep breath.   _“With a complete fucking stranger?!”_

The receptionist pressed her lips together in a tight line.  “We would never send one of our students home with someone not authorized to pick them up,” she informed Fiona frostily.

“There is no other - !”  Fiona’s voice rose several decibels, but it was cut off by the the next words.

“We released him to a…”  the receptionist was looking at a clipboard, moving her finger down to where Fiona could see Liam’s name penciled in.  “Mickey Milkovich.”

The air rushed out of Fiona’s lungs, and she sagged against the counter.  “Oh, _shit_.”

 

 


	2. Emergency Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean, Mickey Milkovich took Liam?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicidal thoughts and references

 

_“What do you mean, Mickey Milkovich took Liam?”_

Lip’s voice drilling into her ear, Fiona slumped down on one of the benches that lined the entrance into the preschool - she’d ducked out of the office, unable to take the receptionist’s judgemental stare anymore.

“How the fuck would he even be allowed to pick up Liam anyway?”  Lip was demanding now over the phone, loud enough to garner her a dirty look from a couple of parents ushering their non-missing children out to the parking lot. “Don’t they have some kind of rules that say they can’t hand over the kids to any fucking psycho that comes strolling in off the streets?”

Fiona winced.  This was the part she’d been hoping Lip would forget to ask.  “Sure, they do,”  she mumbled in defeat.  “It’s just that...I might have put Mickey’s name on the emergency contact form.”

There was a moment of silence before Lip spoke again.  “You added - “  he broke off then and she could feel the waves of silent disapproval radiating through the phone at her.  “Never mind - you can explain that to me later.  What I can’t figure out is what the fuck he’d want with Liam.  We haven’t heard from the guy in almost a year.  Now he just shows up and takes Liam out of nowhere?”

“Maybe it’s payback,”  Fiona’s panic was starting to rise again.  She jumped up from the bench, pacing back and forth.   

“Payback?”  Lip sounded bewildered at that.

“Yeah, fuck, I don’t know, Lip!  Maybe it’s to get even...I mean Ian took his baby once.  Maybe it’s an eye for an eye, a kid for a kid.”

“Jesus,”  Lip sighed. “Look, Fiona, we both just need to think for a second.”  

Fiona clutched the phone harder in her hands, forcing herself to breathe.  Lip was right, she needed to think.  But the cold hard facts were making that a lot harder to do.  “How are we going to find him, Lip?  We don’t have any idea where Mickey is, his old number’s been disconnected, we have no one to ask -” she couldn’t continue, the panic closing her throat.

“OK, Mickey didn’t just show up out of the blue.  The school must have called him.  That means they have another number for him. Go get it, call Mickey, and find out where the fuck Liam is.  Call me back as soon as you know anything,” Lip disconnected the phone.

Fiona took a deep breath.  Fine -she’d go back into the office and throw herself on the receptionist’s mercy; admit that she had no idea where her little brother could be and that she needed help tracking him down.  Fiona, the good guardian.  She was doing such a stellar job.

Jesus.  Mickey Fucking Milkovich.  She could still barely believe it.  How the fuck did the universe conspire to bring him back into their orbit?

* * *

Mickey was wondering the same thing.  

He’d taken a long lunch that day, meaning he’d picked up a little more than take out and taken the guy back to his apartment.  Not his usual thing, but he kinda knew the guy.  His name was Luke or Lee...fuck it, Mickey couldn’t remember.  It was just a guy who’d done some work for him a couple of times and eyed Mickey up and down every time he saw him, the invitation clear.  So when Mickey had run into him at the corner deli, he figured the coincidence was the universe’s way of throwing him some free dick and quickly took advantage of the opportunity.

Things had just been getting good, with Lance above him, settling into a steady, pounding rhythm.

“Almost there, almost home…”  Leonardo grunted as he worked over Mickey rhythmically.  

Mickey gasped out a breath beneath him.  If Landon would just shut the fuck up, he might not be bad at this.

On the nightstand, his phone began to ring.

“Don’t even…”  his afternoon delight grunted, picking up the pace a bit, making Mickey gasp.

For a second, Mickey seriously considered ignoring it, but it could be a new customer and it wasn’t like he was in the position to turn down the money.

“Take it down a notch,” he muttered to Leonard as he picked it up.

“This is Alicia from Sunnyside Daycare.  I’m calling in regards to Liam Gallagher, please,”  a terse female voice greeted him.

It was like the universe had suddenly balled up its fist and sucker-punched him out of nowhere. Mickey blew out a long breath, his dick shriveling up so tight he suspected it was actually trying to retreat inside his body.  

“Sir? Are you still there?”

Belatedly, Mickey realized he’d been gasping for breath.  “Yeah,” he finally managed.  “Sorry, you’ve definitely got the wrong number, lady.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  This isn’t Mickey Milkovich?”

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted,  He sat up now, pushing Leroy off of him, and reaching for the half smoked cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed.  “But I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“We have been unable to reach either Fiona Gallagher or Phillip Gallagher,”  the cold voice informed him.  “Liam has been vomiting all morning and we do not have the facilities to keep him away from the other children.  If you are unwilling to pick him up, we will have no other choice but to call his social worker.”

Aw, shit.  “No, wait, wait, wait,”  Mickey rubbed his eyes.  “Give me the address.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hey, we’re not done here,”  Lionel protested as Mickey hung up the phone and jumped out of the bed.

Mickey threw Lex his pants.  “Get dressed and get lost.”

“You let me walk out this door right now, you’ll never see this ass again,” Lester warned as he pulled his pants on, glaring in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey shrugged.  “Nice knowing you, Levi.”

“It’s _Lucky_ ,” the man scowled at him.

“Yeah, not today, buddy,” Mickey threw open the bedroom door impatiently.

After Lenny had banged his way out of the front door,  Mickey continued to stand there, frozen in indecision.  

What the fuck had he been thinking?  Mindlessly jumping in to help at the first mention of the name Gallagher?  After all this time…  Mickey began to pace in frustration.  It had been months.  Shit...almost a year.  But more than time had passed - it was a lifetime ago.  Everything was different now.  And here he was, ready to chase after anything...anyone remotely related to I -

He stopped himself before he thought the name.  That was a swirling vortex he was in no shape to jump into.

But he’d said he’d come.  If he didn’t, with Fiona’s track record, Liam was on a one-way trip to foster care.  Not that Mickey should give a fuck.

And yet.

Mickey bit his lip, thumbing his nose for a long second, considering.  Then he did what he’d been doing with increasing frequency lately in times of crisis: he called upon a higher power.

_“SVETLANA!”_

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Mickey was back at the front door of the apartment, unlocking it.

Next to him, Svetlana balanced Liam in her arms.  He had his head on her shoulder, eyes open, blinking slowly as he gazed at Mickey.  He hadn’t said a word to either of them beyond a subdued, “Hi, Mickey,” when he’d first seen them.  At least he knew the kid remembered him.  

“We have to put him in your room to sleep,”  Svetlana said a moment later.

“Fuck no!”  Mickey protested as he opened the door, letting her walk in front of him.  “I don’t want him puking on my bed!”

“It’s where Yevgeny spends the least time,”  Svetlana snapped.  “I do not want him getting sick too.  Besides, cannot be any worse than anything your afternoon fucks leave behind,”  she smirked at that as Mickey glowered.

“Fine,” he snapped, then hesitated, suddenly conscious of the rumpled and possibly pretty fucking disgusting condition of his bed.  Dammit - when Svetlana was right, she was right.

“Clean sheets are in hallway closet,”  Svetlana still wore that smug smile.

When Mickey came back a few minutes later, Svetlana had Liam seated at their tiny dining room table, pouring him a small cup of Gatorade.

“How is your stomach?”  she was asking the kid as he took a tentative sip.  “You want soup?  Crackers?”

Liam blinked at her again.  He didn’t answer.

“He still does not talk much, does he?”  Svetlana straightened up, giving Mickey a questioning look.

“Probably just feels like shit,”  Mickey said.  He leaned over Liam and held out his hand.  Liam eyed him with a certain amount of suspicion, then took it, letting Mickey help him off the chair.

“Alright, then, short stack. I’m gonna let you lie down on my bed, OK?  But if you puke on my mattress, I’m drop kicking you out the window.  Just so we’re clear.”  Mickey was rewarded with a faint giggle at that.  “You’re still alive in there after all.  Good to know, kid.”

“You going to call his sister?”  Svetlana asked Mickey as he started to lead Liam to the bedroom.

Mickey stopped, considering. “Nope,” he said after a moment and then picked Liam up so the boy could balance on Mickey’s feet, jogging him the rest of the way to the bedroom.

When he came back after tucking Liam in, Svetlana was waiting, hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently.  “So what then?”  she demanded.  “We are going to take him home?”

Mickey felt an immediate arctic snap descend upon him at the thought.  “Fuck no.  I ain’t going nowhere near there.”

Svetlana closed her eyes in exasperation.  “What do you think you are doing? Fiona will call cops on us!”

“For what?  Free babysitting?”  Mickey walked over to the small kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a beer.  “She was the one that wasn’t around when he needed her.  Let her sweat it out a bit.  She’ll figure out how to get a hold of us eventually.”

Svetlana shook her head in exasperation.  “Why do I always let you drag me into your shit?”  With that, she turned towards the door.

“Where the fuck are you doing?”  Mickey burst out, suddenly alarmed.

She tossed him a disdainful glance.  “I am going downstairs to make sure your brothers are taking care of Yevgeny and haven’t put us out of business yet.”

“Hang on -”  Mickey started to protest.

“Your mess,” Svetlana snapped.  “You clean it.”  A slam of the front door and she was gone.

Well, fuck.  Tweaking Fiona had seemed a lot more fun thirty seconds ago, when Mickey had planned on making himself scarce long before she actually showed up.  The idea of actually talking to her... _seeing_ her…  Mickey’s stomach twisted violently.  It had been hard enough, walking into that school and seeing Liam standing there, a little taller, maybe, but otherwise unchanged.  A tiny mascot for a whole team of unwanted memories.  Being faced with Fiona on top of that was like willingly asking for an avalanche to bury him.  Fuck fuck fuck...why had he ever answered the phone in the first place?

Just then, his phone chimed.  Mickey looked at the Caller ID and groaned.

No good deed goes unpunished, indeed.

* * *

Fiona bent over the receptionist's desk, ignoring the scathing look she was getting in return, and studied the emergency contact list.  Sure enough, there was Mickey’s name in her own handwriting, and his number, the one she’d been calling, right beside it.  Someone had scratched it out with a pen, writing ‘out of service’ above it.  But there was another as well, and now Fiona dimly remembered Mickey insisting on giving her every number he could possibly be reached out, in case Ian had a crisis when Mickey was not around.  God, those days seemed so far away now.

She pulled out her phone and dialed.  

“Who the hell is this?”  A scratchy, irritated female voice answered.

“This is Fiona Gallagher.  I’m looking for Mickey Milkovich.”

“Jesus Christ, what am I, his goddamn answering service?” the woman heaved a sigh. “Look, I’m gonna give you his number and you tell him that his aunt Randi is gonna kick his ass if I get any more of his calls.  You got that?”

“No problem,”  Fiona said breathlessly, tapping her finger impatiently while the woman gave her the number.  

She bit her lip hard and dialed quickly.

“Yeah?”  

Fiona’s knees went nearly weak in relief when she heard the familiar voice.  “Oh, thank fuck,” she choked out.

  
“Hi, Fiona,” Mickey responded, impatience laced with just a touch of amusement in his tone. “Long time.  You missing something, by chance?”  

“Fucking Christ, Mickey, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Yeah?  Cuz the way I see it, I did you a favor.  Mind telling me how the fuck I ended up as an emergency contact for your kid brother?”

Fiona ran a hand through her tangled hair, turning and heading for the door.  “I put you on it months ago, back when you were still around every day.  DCFS made me fill out all these forms to get Liam into preschool.  I needed three contacts.  I sure as hell wasn’t going to put Frank and with everything going on with Ian…”  she trailed off.

“I get it,”  Mickey’s voice went exponentially colder when she mentioned Ian.  

“I forgot all about it until today.  Look, I didn’t think anyone would ever actually need to call you,” she said in a rush.  “It should have been me or Lip, but my phone got stolen yesterday and Lip was in class - “

“It’s fine,”  Mickey was still terse.  “Just get here when you can and pick him up.  I’ll text you the address.”

“I don’t know how to thank -”

“You can get here.  Then you can disappear.”  There was a click in her ear before Fiona could finish.

Well, this wasn’t going to be awkward in the least.

***

There had to be a mistake.  Fiona looked again at Mickey’s text then back up at the building.  It was some storefront or office; she couldn’t see the name because the doors were thrown wide open and a big, bearded man that looked like a Sons of Anarchy cast member was wheeling a dolly out the door.  

God, Mickey was fucking with her.  With them all.  Maybe this really was payback.

“Can I help you?”  The big man had stopped next to her, leaning on his dolly.  “You look a little lost.”

“You have no idea,”  Fiona shook her head.  “I don’t suppose you know a guy named Mickey Milkovich, do you?”

“Oh!”  The guy’s face cleared.  “Yeah, lives right upstairs,” he nodded towards an outer staircase on the far side of the building.  

There was only one door at the top of the stairs.  Fiona knocked once, then again.  For several too long seconds there was no response, and fear touched her all over again.  What if Mickey didn’t open the door?  What if Liam wasn’t on the other side?

Then the door swung up, and Fiona had to keep herself from gasping in relief as Mickey came into view.  He gestured silently at her to enter.

Fiona followed him inside, and stopped, looking around.  The living room she found herself in was small, a little cluttered with a playpen and baby swing among the furniture, but otherwise surprisingly neat.  The walls were unstained and free of graffiti, and no where did she see the piles of trash and junk that she’d come to associate with a Milkovich homestead.  

“This is nicer than I expected,” Fiona blurted and flushed when Mickey raised an eyebrow.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shrugged.  “Sure you did.”

Fiona looked away quickly, eyes touring the family pictures lined the wall...Mickey and Mandy, Mickey and his brothers posing, but what surprised Fiona even more than the idea of Milkovich family photos was the number of pictures of Mickey and Svetlana.  Their wedding photo reigned supreme, blown up larger than everything else, but there was several others as well.  Mickey and Svetlana smiling awkwardly, Yevgeny in between them, in a variety of settings, the park, his first birthday, at the zoo...there was even a family portrait that looked like it had been done at Sears or something.

“This is….very domestic,”  she turned back to Mickey.

“Yeah, it’s all Svet. I just go along with whatever the fuck she wants to do.”  

“Secret to a successful marriage,”  Fiona replied drily.  She eyed Mickey for a moment longer.  “I’d heard a rumor you guys had worked things out, but this is something else,”  she hesitated a moment, then plunged in.  “Are you two... _together_ together?”

Mickey snorted.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  We got INS up our asses right now, trying to get her legal and shit.  Gotta put on a good show.”

“How’s that going?”

Mickey sighed.  “Fiona, we ain’t friends.  I’m not looking to bond.  Just take Liam and go.”

“Sorry,”  Fiona muttered, looking away.  “Just making friendly conversation.  Where is your wife, anyway?”

“Downstairs, running the show so I can handle this.  I gotta get down there so…”  Mickey looked significantly at the door.  “Let me get Liam for you.”

With that he disappeared around a corner and came back a few minutes later, carrying Liam.  Fiona breathed a sigh of relief so deep she felt it in her toes when she saw her baby brother.  His head lolled against Mickey’s shoulders and his eyes were half-shut.

“Hey, you!”  she exclaimed, taking him from Mickey’s arms.  Liam hated to be carried nowadays, but he offered no resistance at the moment, still seeming half-asleep.  “How are you feeling?”  

Liam buried his face in her neck and didn’t answer.  “That good, huh?”  she rubbed his back lightly.

“Well, it was nice to see you again,”  Fiona finally managed, looking at Mickey’s closed expression.  “We should go.”  

Mickey didn’t say anything, just watched her as she picked up Liam’s backpack from the couch.  It seemed like there should be so much more to say, so much that they were both avoiding...the spectre of Ian hung around them both, a giant question mark.

Fiona was almost at the door when she turned around, unable to stop herself

“Mickey, what happened to you?”  Fiona blurted.  “You just... _disappeared_.”

Mickey stared at her before breaking into an astonished laugh.  “Just fucking disappeared?  Is that what you think? Maybe it felt like that to you.  For me it was...slow,”  he broke off.  “Real fucking slow.”

She waited for more, but Mickey’s face was blank now.  He looked like he was a million miles away.

* * *

He was.  As soon as Fiona had asked, the avalanche had submerged Mickey, rushing him away in a suffocating flow of memories.

_“This is it.  This is you breaking up with me.”_

_He hadn’t believed it._

_Even when he’d said it, even when he’d felt himself well up with tears like a little bitch, and didn’t even have enough shame to blink them away.  He’d wanted them, those tears.  That ever-increasingly frequent display of all the feelings he used to keep hidden, now freely on display for Ian, over and over.  A gift for the person who had changed everything for him.  It was the only thing he knew how to give._

_What he hadn’t anticipated was that this - or anything that he had to offer -  was a gift that Ian did not want.  Not anymore._

_Mickey hadn’t understood that then, while he was standing there, looking into Ian’s red eyes.  Hadn’t understood why Ian was pulling away, why he was saying all that fucking stupid shit about Mickey fixing him.  All he’d wanted was for Ian to be better.  That’s what the medication was for.  And here Ian was throwing it all back in his face like it was some kind of betrayal._

_“What does that even mean?”  Ian had asked him, when Mickey had spoken the words.  One last gift.  Returned immediately to sender._

_Still, it had taken a long time for Mickey to understand that Ian was truly done.  Even when bat-shit insane Sammi had shown up out of nowhere and started shooting, and Ian just stood there, Mickey still didn’t get it.  He’d had to run for it in the hail of gunfire, a bullet coming close enough to graze his coat.  Ian was nowhere to be found._

_The cops had shown up and after a few seconds of trying to decipher the mutual screaming, had arrested him and Sammi both.  Even when Ian had never showed up to bail him out, never called, Mickey still didn’t get it.  The police let him out the next morning, no charges, since Sammi wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider a reliable witness._

_When he’d gotten home, he half expected Ian to be there, or at least stop by, ask what had happened, see if he was OK._

_He never showed up.  Mickey had thrown the ashes of his remaining pride to the wind and started calling.  Ian never answered.  Not once.  He’d left a few increasingly agitated voicemails.  Eventually, he’d gotten scared enough to call Fiona.  She’d told him, in a halting, embarrassed tone, that Ian was just fine, and maybe Mickey should stop calling._

_He still didn’t believe it was over.  This was just one of Ian’s moods.  He was coming down off another one of his manic periods, sinking into the black.  A week or two, and he’d come around._

_Weeks passed.  Months, maybe.  It was hard to track time...all the days were the same. Mickey woke up in the morning, alone.  Went to bed at night, alone.  Marked the hours in between by staring blankly at Ian’s picture on his phone screen.  Walking past the Gallagher house in twilight.  Calling Mandy to see if she’d heard anything.  Showing up at The Fairy Tail to skulk around the entrance like some stalker, watching from the corner or across the street to see if Ian would show up, which Ian did with less and less frequency.  If Ian ever knew Mickey was there on those nights, he gave no sign._

_Then, one night, Mickey realized he was done too._

_He didn’t know what triggered it.  There was no straw to break the proverbial camel’s back.  He had walked by the house again, looking up at it in the dark, his hands clasped around his silent phone.  Missed calls, none.  Texts, none._

_And he knew, just like that, Ian wasn’t coming back.  No matter what Mickey told himself.  That Ian had loved him once, he must still.  That Ian still cared.  That it was just being mentally fucked and a shitload of meds that made him act like he didn’t._

_But when it came down to it, it didn’t really matter why it was over.  What mattered was that it was._

_Everything that happened after that was either sheer dumb luck, or maybe a fate that wanted him to get out of the Southside as bad as he wanted to._

_Mickey had stumbled home, passing his brothers in silence as they sat on the couch, raucously playing some shit game on the Xbox.  They didn’t greet him; probably because he’d stopped responding long ago._

_Mickey headed straight to his room as usual.  He sat on the bed, just...numb.  Before, he would have understood that he was waiting.  But that was gone.  There was nothing to wait for anymore._

_Mickey tried to will himself to get back up.  There was beer in the fridge, waiting for him.  He had pills on the nightstand that would help him sleep, or a bit of blow if he wanted to pretend to be a good mood, go pick up a side-piece at the park.  Everything that he needed to skim the surface of this empty, pathetic joke of a life._

_Alternatively, there was the gun._

_Loaded.  Ready.  Waiting, hidden underneath his mattress._

_He never thought about it, not consciously, but the idea of it was always though, buried deep.  A sick kind of comfort, knowing that there might be a day when he couldn’t skim anymore, where the loneliness and loss would submerge him in full._

_It would be messy, but quick.  Not like he’d be there to clean it up._

_But why should he?  He’d given Gallagher everything else.  He’d given up everything for Ian too - his heart, his dignity, his father...even his son.  And now he was gonna give Ian this too - the gift of his brains splattered all over the wall?_

_Fuck that shit.  Fuck it to hell.  He’d survived before Ian, he’d survive after him too.  He just had to remember how._

_But he couldn’t survive here.  Not in this house, where every corner was haunted with memories.  Not in this neighborhood.  Not two fucking blocks away.  Mickey had to let go, or everything he was holding onto was going to choke the life out of him._

_The apartment he picked out of the Pennysaver was more of an accident then a choice.  Mickey had closed his eyes and run his finger down the page of the Pennysaver, opening his eyes to see where he’d stopped._

_A two bedroom, ‘small, carpets cleaned, recently fumigated’.  He knew what that meant - it was the size of a dollhouse,  the landlord had scrubbed a few stains out of the carpet and set off a Raid bomb._

_He studied the address. The only thing Mickey knew about that area was that it was shitty.  He didn’t have any friends there, family, connections...nothing.  That was probably the point._

_The place wasn’t in his budget - not that anything was, considering he had no steady job and no (legal) source of income.  He called the number any way.  It was answered by a gruff elderly woman with a thick accent who asked him a few cursory questions, which he answered as best he could._

_“Be straight with me, kid,” she finally said, “You gonna pass the background check?”_

_“No,” he said honestly._

_She coughed a laugh.  “Good, because this dump wouldn’t pass the housing inspection!”  She barked out a few more of those ‘lifetime smoker’ laughs, and cleared her throat loudly.  “Whichever one of you bad credit shitheads brings me first month’s rent and security deposit the fastest gets it.  That’s twelve hundred dollars in case you are as stupid as you sound. Cash.  Won’t last more than a day, so if you’re serious, get yourself over here.”  With that, she hung up._

_Twelve hundred dollars.  Fuck._

_Mickey dug his stash of cash out from underneath the mattress and counted it.  Almost two thousand dollars, which was due to be depleted immediately by the stack of bills piled up by their front door._

_Fuck that._

_It took him less than an hour to pack.  When he was done, Mickey stood and looked around his bedroom.  He’d taken so little that it hadn’t made any real difference at all.  Every surface was still crammed full of junk, his posters and drawings still in place on the wall._

_He was turning to walk out when a flash of white caught his eye._

_It was Ian’s picture, still tacked to the wall, where he’d stuck in weeks before in a sudden act of defiance, another fuck you to his father and all the years of hiding.  Mickey walked over, touching it lightly.  He was about to take it off the wall when he stopped, leaving it where it was.  If it was over, let it be over.  He didn’t need to pack a ghost.  Besides, it’s not like he needed a picture.  He couldn’t ever go far enough to forget Ian’s face._

_He looked once again at the posters on the wall, and was surprised by the sudden grin that split his face.  This was happening.  It was actually fucking happening.  And it felt...right._

_For the last time, Mickey opened his bedroom door.  He didn’t spare it a backwards glance._

_Iggy and Colin were wrestling on the ground in front of the sofa.  Mickey stopped next to them and waited._

_“What are you doing?”  Iggy stopped hitting Colin long enough to ask, looking at the suitcase Mickey was holding._

_“I um...I’m leaving,”  Mickey couldn’t quite meet his eyes._

_“Leaving?”  It was Colin speaking now, rubbing his head gingerly.  “Like...gonna go visit Mandy or some shit?”_

_“No.  Leaving as in never coming back,”  Mickey looked steadily at them._

_Iggy stood up.  “What the fuck, Mickey?”_

_Mickey shrugged, even as the guilt rose up and threatened to choke him.  “Nothing left for me here.  Plus Dad gets out and finds me still here, he’ll kill me for sure.  I’m going while the getting’s still good.”_

_“But what about us?”  Colin finally managed, eyes wide, voice plaintive._

_What about you?  Mickey wanted to say.  Since when have we ever been anything besides each man for himself?  But he couldn’t.  Because he knew why he’d looked for a two bedroom apartment.  He knew why he’d walked out so openly in front of them instead of sneaking out as soon as their backs were turned.  They were family.  He couldn’t leave without trying._

_“You can come,” he mumbled.  “Place will be shitty.  I got no job and no plans.  I’ll probably be on the street in a month.  But if you want…”  he trailed off, wincing as he saw that both Iggy and Colin were looking at him as if he’d grown another head._

_“Never mind,” he said hurriedly.  “I’ll stay in touch -”_

_“We could do it if it’s all three of us,”  Iggy said suddenly.  He looked at Colin.  “We got some money.  Put it all together, figure out how to get more, get jobs or whatever.”_

_Colin hesitated.  “But what about this house? We ain’t here to pay the mortgage, Dad loses it for sure.”_

_“Who gives a fuck?”  Mickey grinned suddenly.  He couldn’t help it.  He could so clearly picture Terry, fresh from prison, storming up to the door only to find it padlocked and inaccessible.  Finding himself alone the way he’d always deserved.  All his power, gone for good._

_“I don’t,”  Iggy said.  He stood up.  “Give a fuck, I mean,” he added in response to Colin’s confused expression.  “What is Dad doing for us?  Nothing.  Like usual.  Ain’t spending the rest of my fucking life trying to keep his shit together.  I’m going with Mickey.  You want to stay, that’s on you.”_

_Colin screwed up his face, trying to think it over.  Mickey felt a vague sympathetic pain watching him.  Colin was a good brother, but he was slower than molasses.  Was almost like having a little brother in a way, instead of a big one - he and Iggy always had to look out for Colin, make sure people weren’t scamming him or trying to hurt him.  Not that Colin couldn’t take care of himself - he was huge, muscular, and knocked down all opponents like a rampaging bull if you got him mad enough.  Still, Colin was like a weapon that fired when instructed to do so; on his own, he couldn’t do shit.  Fuck, he couldn’t even follow the heating directions on a Cup of Noodles.  What the hell was Colin going to do without them?_

_No, Mickey definitely didn’t want to leave Colin behind to face the music alone if Terry showed up and found them gone.  And he could tell by the look Iggy was shooting him that he felt the same.  Shit, maybe they could promise Colin a trip to the fair or something, a box full of lollipops, lure him out the door like a child predator laying bait._

_Luckily, they didn’t have to resort to such tactics; Colin stood up, still looking mildly confused but determined.  “We’re brothers. I’m sticking with you guys.  So if you’re going, I’m going too.”_

_“Fuck yeah!”  Iggy beamed and shoulder bumped Colin hard._

_“Grab your shit then,”  Mickey couldn’t help smiling too.  Adrenaline was starting to pump through his veins, excitement rippling through him.  He felt the way he’d felt the first time he’d run away, when he was all of seven or so, throwing his stuffed backpack out the window and jumping out after it._

_But this time, it was for real.  No policeman would bring him home at five a.m. to his crying mother and furious, red faced father._

_This time, when he escaped, there was not a hand on this earth that could drag him back._

* * *

“Mickey?”  Fiona raised her voice a little.  Mickey was still staring blankly ahead.  When she called his name, he blinked, shaking his head lightly before looking at her with mild surprise, as if he’d forgotten she was still  there.

“We tried to call you a couple of times.  Lip and me,” Fiona added hurriedly when he blanched at the ‘us’.  “Things got a little -”

“Don’t,”  Mickey held up his hand.  “Don’t fucking do this.  I don’t want to know.”

“Sorry,”  Fiona whispered.  “I’m sorry, Mickey.  Really.”

Mickey had turned partially away, and she couldn’t see his expression now. She opened the door.  “I’ll get your name removed from the contact list.”

“No,”  he surprised both of them.  She stopped, staring at him.

Mickey looked almost angry at himself for a moment, then he blew out a deep sigh. “That bitch that called sounded way too happy about turning you over to Social Services.  Don’t give her a reason. You can leave me on there until you get someone else to be your third.”

“Thanks,”  Fiona couldn’t mask her surprise.  

“It’s not for you.  It’s not for... _him_ , either,” Mickey danced away from speaking Ian’s name.  “Kid’s been through enough already.  Doesn’t need to end up in foster care on top of it.  But that’s it, Fiona.  That’s the last favor I ever do for a Gallagher.  Find someone else quick, and after that, I don’t want to know you.  Not any of you.  We’re done.”

“I understand,” she turned her attention back to Mickey, hesitating a minute before plunging in.  “Do you want me to tell Ian -”

Mickey broke in before she could even finish speaking.  “Stop. I don’t want to hear his name, I don’t want to know how he’s doing, and I sure as hell don’t want to see his face.  As far as he’s concerned, this never happened.  You never saw me. Got it?”

“OK,”  Fiona turned towards the door.  “Thank you again,”

"Sure, whatever,”  Mickey stood at his open front door, watching them descend the steps.  “Hey, Fiona,”  he called after her, and she turned.  “He’s OK?”

Fiona broke into a smile.  “Yeah.  He’s -”

“That’s good enough,”  Mickey cut her off, and with that, he disappeared inside, the door closing behind him.

***

“How did it go?”  Svetlana asked him after dinner that night as he helped her clear the table and load the dishwasher.

Mickey just shrugged silently.  Svetlana studied his expression before she patted him on the shoulder without saying anything else and he knew she understood.  It was a relief to not have to say it, to even try to articulate it.  Svet could be a pain in his fucking ass most of the time, but he had to admit, she had a way of making things easy - simple.  Sometimes he came close to admitting to himself that he wasn’t sure if he would have gotten through these last few months without her dragging him through it all.  Yeah, she had him by the short hairs, but at least, this time around, he could say that he’d gotten to make the choice.

_Iggy and Colin had made some noise about waiting until morning, but a few scathing looks and a couple of punched shoulders from Mickey was enough to put a stop to that.  Mickey got them to grab what they could carry and it wasn’t more than an hour before they were in the car._

_He didn’t have to drive down Wallace Street.  Could have easily avoided the gray house on the corner.   Maybe he was just a stupid fuck after all, but he wanted one last look._

_When they drove past the house, Mickey did not speed up.  He looked, unflinchingly, even when he could clearly see Ian’s silhouette, walking past the front window, flashing a glimpse of bright red before disappearing from view._

_“You want to stop?”  Iggy leaned over to ask him quietly._

_“No,”  Mickey shook his head.  “Let’s get the fuck gone already,” he turned the corner.  In the distance, the lights of the city sparkled.  Two more turns and they would be on the freeway._

_So why wasn’t he going?_

_“What’s up?”  Colin leaned over from the backseat as Mickey slowed the car to a crawl._

_“I - “  Mickey swallowed hard.  “Pit stop.  One more thing I gotta do.”_

_Svetlana was sitting at the bar of the Alibi, talking to V, when Mickey walked in, Iggy and Colin right behind him.  Any confidence Mickey had felt, knowing he had his brothers as backup, disappeared as soon as those traitors saw their sister in law glaring at them and immediately headed in the opposite direction._

_Shit. Mickey took a deep breath and headed over.  “Hey,” he said after a minute of being doused in Svetlana’s ice cold glower._

_“What do you want?”  she asked him frostily._

_He moistened his lips.  “Where’s Yevgeny?” he asked._

_“With Kev.  He is babysitting Yevgeny and his girls tonight.  The way father who actually cares for his child does.  Not that you would know anything about that,”  she turned away from him, sipping her drink._

_“I’m going,”  Mickey finally managed after an excruciating silence._

_Svetlana turned back to him.  “What do you mean?”  You are leaving?”  At his nod, scorching fury melted the ice of her expression.  “Not enough to just ignore your son?  Now you run as far as you can away; make sure you never have to be real father?”_

_“Come with me,”  Mickey blurted out._

_Svetlana froze, whatever epithet she was going to hurl at him fading away.  She stared at Mickey mutely, even as Mickey saw V’s head swing towards them._

_“Is this a joke?”  she finally managed._

_Mickey ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I know I fucked up, OK?  I know I put everything before Yevgeny,”  he could have taken out everything and substituted Ian but it wasn’t necessary.  “If you’re expecting some speech about it, a fucking apology, you’re not gonna get it.  I’m just asking for another chance to be in my kid’s life.”_

_“Just like that.  No call for months.  No visit.  Nothing.  Yevgeny and I could have been dead for all you gave shit.  Now you show up, say drop everything and come with me?”_

_“Yeah,”  Mickey stood up from the bar stool.  “That’s what I’m saying.  So now, ball’s in your court.  Pack your shit, and get in the car.  Or let me walk out of here.  But if you do, I’m not coming back.  That’s the end of it.  You understand?  And you can tell Yevgeny anything you want about me when he’s older.  Tell him I’m the biggest piece of shit that ever was.  It would be true.  But you take five minutes to tell him I came for him.  You don’t let him think that I didn’t - “ he stopped, because his voice was about to do something stupid, like break, and he was fucking done with crying._

_“You don’t have to do this, Svetlana,”  V leaned over the bar, tossing Mickey a disdainful look at the same time.  “We’re not throwing you out.  You’ve got the place upstairs as long as you need it.”_

_Svetlana looked at back at V.  “Thank you,” she murmured._

_Mickey waited.  Svetlana tossed back the rest of her drink and stood up.  “Get your brothers.  I have lot to pack.  Need your help.”_

_“Gonna have to be just what you can carry,”  Mickey corrected.  “Car’s already pretty much full.”_

_“I cannot just leave everything.  Yevgeny needs things; his clothes, his stroller, his playpen - ”_

_“We don’t fucking have room!”  Mickey’s voice rose._

_“So let’s wait until tomorrow then.  More time to pack and we can get something bigger -”_

_“I can’t,”  Mickey turned away.  “It has to be now.”_

_“Why?”_

_Mickey turned back.  He had his answer ready, how the lady said the apartment would go quick and they had to beat all contenders, but as soon as he met her steady gaze it all fell away and the truth tumbled out._

_“If I don’t leave now, I won’t leave at all,” he rubbed his face nervously.  “I’ll start fucking thinking about…him, worrying, and I won’t be able to go.  And I gotta go. Svet, I’m fucking dying here.  I can’t -”  Goddammit, he was coming apart at the seams._

_“OK,”  Svetlana was nodding, her eyes fixed on him.  “Then we’ll go now.  But I still need all of my things.”_

_He opened his mouth, ready to explode, but Svetlana was smiling.  “I have an idea…”_

“Hey,”  Svetlana was drumming her fingers on the counter impatiently.  Mickey blinked slowly at her, coming out of his mental haze.

“I need you to read Yevgeny a story and put him to bed,” she was telling him now.  

Agreeably, Mickey picked up his son into his arms and carried Yevgeny to his bedroom, setting him down next to his new ‘big boy’ bed.  He was a little young for it yet, not being quite two, but after too many late night escapes, they’d figured it was time to say goodbye to his crib.  Kid didn’t like being behind bars any more than any other Milkovich.

“Alright, let’s pick a story,”  Mickey eyed the small book shelf above the dresser for a moment before he grabbed the first one he saw.  “How about Goodnight Moon?”

“Nyet!” Yevgeny shook his head, smacking the book out of Mickey’s hands at the same time.

“Dammit, Svet, can you cool it on the Russian, please?”  Mickey spoke loudly, eyeing his smirking son. “Would be nice if he could actually speak English by the time kindergarten rolls around.”

“Your fault, not mine!”  Svetlana called as she walked past the bedroom carrying a hamper of laundry.  “I teach him Russian, you teach him English.  You want him to speak better English, maybe you should talk to him more.”

Yevgeny began to giggle as Mickey mockingly mouthed Svetlana’s often spoken words as she talked.  

“He sounds happy,”  Svetlana poked her head in the door with a smile.  

“Sure,”  Mickey shrugged, shooting Yevgeny a wink that she couldn’t see, making the toddler giggle harder.

“Ok, help me out here,”  he turned back to the shelf as Svetlana disappeared.  “You don’t want Goodnight Moon, what the fuck do you want to read then?”

“Language!”  he heard Svet call from the other room.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath before turning his attention back to Yevgeny.  “Well, kid?”

Yevgeny scrunched up his face before pointing.  Mickey followed his gaze and plucked a book off the shelf, looking at Yevgeny to make sure he’d understood correctly.  The boy grinned toothily at him.

“Alright then, Clifford the Big Red Dog it is,”  Mickey grabbed Yevgeny with one arm, the book with the other, and lightly tossed his son onto the bed.  “Under the covers first.”

He settled himself on the floor next to Yevgeny’s bed, and opened the book.  The cartoon dog stared dopily back at him, a goofy look of adoration on his features.

Mickey swallowed hard, and then felt instantly stupid.  Jesus, one visit from Fiona fucking Gallagher, and he was a sappy fucking mess, seeing ghosts in every stupid thing.

Yevgeny slapped the book impatiently when Mickey continued to just sit there.

“Alright, damn!”  Mickey straightened up.  “You get this attitude from your mom, I hope you know that.”  Quickly, he glanced at the door to make sure Svetlana hadn’t heard.

“You know, kid, you knew a big red dumbass once, a lot like this dog here,”  the words slipped out as he turned the page so Yevgeny could see the pictures.  “He sure loved you.  Used to rock you to sleep, sing to you - badly, read you dumb shit like this way before you were old enough to understand any of it.  And you probably don’t remember him at all.”

Yevgeny eyed him perplexedly.

“That’s OK.  He doesn’t remember us, either,”  Mickey blinked rapidly, turned the page again, and began to read.

* * *

Ian was supposed to be studying.

He’d come into the kitchen with perfectly good intentions, bookbag in hand, ready to go.  And he’d spent the last hour staring at his closed laptop on the kitchen table, doing absolutely fucking nothing.

“Hey,”  Fiona walked into the kitchen, carrying a thermometer and a bottle of children’s medicine.

“So, what’s the word?”  Ian indicated upstairs with a jerk of his chin.

“Fever’s just about gone, and he’s sleeping.  I think he’s gonna be just fine.”  Fiona set her supplies down on the kitchen counter and turned to him.  “What are you up to?”

“Studying,”  Ian looked at the closed laptop and his cheeks flamed.  “Well...maybe not.”

Fiona shrugged.  “It’s pretty useless if you’ve already taken your nighttime dose,”  her words were light but Ian knew the truth behind it.  She was both fishing and nudging, checking to see if he was still on top of things.

“Yeah, I know.  And I did, by the way,”  Ian looked significantly at the pill divider above the kitchen sink.

Fiona smiled guiltily.  

“Something on your mind?”  Ian asked after a minute when she continued to stand there, watching him.

“Just wanted to check in, catch up a bit,”  Fiona was shifting her weight from foot to foot.  “You know, maybe you need a partner.  Whatever happened to that Seth guy?”

“What?”  It took Ian a minute to get what she was thinking of.  “Oh, you mean that guy I used to study with?”

“Kinda didn’t think he was just a study buddy,” Fiona smiled knowingly.

“Not always,”  Ian admitted after a moment.  “Um...it kinda isn’t.  Going, I mean.  We had fun together, but he wanted to get serious.  I wasn’t up for it. We haven’t talked in a while.  I think he’s got a boyfriend now.”

“Oh!”  Fiona was looking a little nervous again, but almost excited at the same time.  

“Why?”  Ian asked suspiciously.  God, she’d met some guy she wanted to set him up with, he could just feel it coming.

“Well, I um...I was just wondering if you....I mean, it’s been a while.  And you’re doing really well.  Maybe there’s some things you’d like to...revisit,”  Fiona trailed off hesitantly.

Yep, she was definitely trying to set him up.  “Yeah, I don’t think so, Fi.  I mean, I’m just trying to focus on school and keeping my life together, you know?  A relationship, or even just dating, on top of that?  I don’t need the stress right now.”

“Oh,”  Fiona’s face fell before she composed a smile.  “You know, you’re probably right.  Lots of time I wish I’d looked at it that way instead of just piling up the bodies,”  she sighed.  “Guess it wasn’t meant to be,”  she muttered more to herself.  

Ian heard the crumple of paper as she clenched her hand.  He looked to see the tiny bit of white escaping from her fist.  “What’s that?”  he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Fiona shrugged.  “Old grocery list, I was gonna throw it away.”  she tossed the crumpled up ball in the nearby trashcan.

She was a terrible liar.  It was probably the number of whatever hopeful she was gonna try to hook him up with.  Ian felt no regret at all as he watched it sink out of his sight.  

When Fiona left the room, Ian exhaled loudly, closing his eyes.

He hadn’t been exactly truthful with Fiona either; but at least he was a better liar.  The truth was, he had been thinking a lot lately.  Thinking about moving forward; not with Seth, the guy was nice enough and an OK fuck, but he bored the shit out of Ian.  Still, having a warm body around, flirting and fucking, had made him realize how much he missed...fuck it.  There was no point in lying to himself.  A warm body he could find anywhere.  He missed Mickey.  Missed him so much that he couldn’t bear to think of it for more than a few seconds at a time.  It was like being blinded by the sun.  Picking up a pan you didn’t expect to be scalding hot.  

He kept thinking, as time went on, it would get more bearable.  The fire would burn out.  Sure, the regret would always be there, like smoldering coals underneath the surface, but he’d take the lessons he learned from all of it, and be better next time.  A better boyfriend...a better person.  With someone else, down the road.

But he didn’t want anyone else.  He’d tried; oh how he’d fucking tried.  Not just with Sean.  He’d picked up a few fast talking, hard-hitting tough guys, thinking maybe that hint of danger, hardness, would satisfy what he needed.  That experiment was even more of a failure than Seth had been.  

He had to move on.  It was fucking idiotic not to.  After all, Ian was the one who’d burned it all to the ground.  He needed to accept that it was over.

Thing was, it didn’t feel over.  And how could he let go if it didn’t feel over?  Ian needed to see him, at least one more time.

But this was nothing but selfishness.  Clearly, this wasn’t something that Mickey needed.  Ian was still in the same place Mickey had left him.  Mickey could have found him at any point.  Could have shown up, could have called, could have come by just to beat the fuck out of him.  So, clearly, the only one who needed closure was Ian.  And he couldn’t put that on Mickey; not after everything else he’d put him through.

He stood up and a wave of dizziness crashed over him, following by a surge of resentment.  God, he fucking hated this, having to rely on pills that fogged his head and rendered him useless.  He’d tried to tell Mickey that once, but it had come out wrong.  It had _all_ come out wrong.

He turned and stumbled towards the staircase.  Bed.  Maybe he would see Mickey again tonight...in his dreams.

It was as close as he was ever going to get.

* * *

Debbie opened the back door quietly, tiptoeing inside and shutting it silently behind her.  As she did so, she caught a glimpse of Ian, disappearing up the back stairs, and a fresh jab of guilt stabbed at her.  She bit her lip hard, trying to force it away.

“You’re home.”

Debbie jumped a mile when she heard Fiona’s voice.  Fuck.  Here she was, thinking she was the epitome of stealth, but she hadn’t counted on Fiona’s much longer history of sneaky entrances and exits.

“Yeah, and?’’ Defensiveness jumped to the forefront, as usual.  “I was just out with some friends.  I’m not allowed to have a life?”

“We need to talk, Debbie,”

“Oh, go ahead.  Impart some sisterly wisdom.  Tell me how to live my life when you’re doing such a bang up job with yours,”  Debbie hissed.

Fiona flinched, but her face remained resolute.  “It’s not gonna work any more.  Putting me on the defensive, making me feel bad, all to avoid anyone looking at you.  I’ve let this go for too long, but now I’m looking, Debbie.  And I gotta tell you, I don’t like what I see.”

“You don’t know shit,”  Debbie brandished the words like a sword.

“Debs -”

“I need to do my homework,”  Debbie grabbed her backpack, under the table next to Ian’s, and made a big show of unzipping it.  

Fiona sighed.  “Soon.  You’re not going to be able to avoid me forever,”  Sighing, she left the room.

“We’ll just see about that,”  Debbie sing-songed to herself, dropping the backpack on the ground once more.  She shot a wary look at the doorway to make sure Fiona wasn’t coming back, and then pulled Ian’s laptop towards herself, flipping open the lid.

The Google page popped up after a few seconds, Mickey Milkovich still typed into the search engine.  Ian hadn’t closed it out properly this morning.  Debbie shook her head, about to check her Facebook, when her eyes drifted casually to the search results.

She read the top one and gasped out loud.  “No way.   _No fucking way!_ ”

Her eyes darted around the kitchen warily, and then drifted upwards as if she could see Ian through the ceiling.  Guilt stabbed at her once more but she shook it off.  It would be meaner than the worst thing she’d ever said, to show Ian these results.  To let him know, let him hope, only to get crushed again.  Ian was doing OK now.  No point in fucking it up and risk losing him all over again.

Still...Debbie hurriedly grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen, writing frantically.  She’d just hold on to this.  It would be her little secret.

After all, you never knew when you might need a Milkovich.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back for chapter two! Feedback is always eagerly courted.


	3. Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not like Mickey is incapable of saying no when Debbie Gallagher shows up looking for sanctuary. Yet somehow she's in his household anyway, seriously fucking up his newly rebuilt life, and bringing him dangerously close to the ex-boyfriend he never wants to see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of abortion, self harm, and references to abuse.

 

“Debbie!  Goddammit, Debbie open this door!”  The pounding on her bedroom door jolted Debbie out of her half sleep, jumping out of bed before her eyes were properly open.

“Debbie!”

“Ok, OK, fuck!”  Debbie stumbled to her door, turned the lock and opened it to find a red faced, furious looking Fiona already dressed in her Patsy Pies uniform, a still sleepy Liam clinging to her legs.

“You’re about to be late for school.  And thanks for your help getting Liam dressed,”  Fiona’s voice dripped in sarcasm.  “I’m probably going to be late now too.”

“Not my job to take care of him,”  Debbie snapped, turning around and thudding towards her dresser, yanking a drawer opening and sifting through clothing options.  “You signed up for this, remember?”

“We all signed up for this!”  Fiona shot back.  “When Monica bailed again - we  wanted to stay together.  We all promised to do our part.  That includes you.  Remember?”

“I was,  like, seven years old.  That can’t be considered a legally binding contract.”  Debbie pulled off the shorts she’d been sleeping in and shimmied into her jeans, then threw a sweater over her head.

“Liam, go downstairs and get your jacket on,”  Fiona patted Liam’s head, turning him towards the stairs and giving him a gentle push in that direction before turning back.  “Debbie, can we have one morning, please, just one, where you’re not giving me shit?”  she sighed, leaning against the doorway and rubbing her forehead.  

“Maybe, if you stop trying to dump everything on me.  I have other things to do too, you know.  It’s not my fault you’re stuck being Queen of the Southside for the rest of your life.”

Hurt flashed on Fiona’s face at that.  “Thanks, Debs.  I appreciate the support.”

“Oh please,”  Debbie whirled around to face her.  “The only reason why you’re here, why you’re even pretending to give a damn, is because Sean doesn’t want you right now.  As soon as he does, or some new creep sits at one of your tables at work, you’re gone again.  Might as well stop faking it.  We all know we’re just something to do in between guys.”

“Hey!”  Fiona stepped forward.  “On what planet do you think it’s OK to talk to me like that?”

Debbie bit the side of her cheek before another sarcasm coated reply could fly out of her mouth.  

“Debbie, stop.  Look at me.”  

Debbie didn’t want to, but she knew that tone.  She’d crossed the line, and Fiona wasn’t going to let this go.  Slowly, she turned to face her older sister.

“What is wrong with you these days?  Huh?  Do you even hear yourself speak, Debbie?”

Debbie bit her cheek harder.  She didn’t answer.  She couldn’t.  Resentment bubbled up in her like a slow simmering cauldron, and all she wanted to do was tip it on someone.  

It wasn’t like she didn’t know how horrible she was being, how much she was hurting everyone she loved, how hard she was pushing them away.  There was a part of her that stood separate and silent, horrified, at every insult she uttered.  But it felt like she didn’t have any control over it - rage was her constant companion these days.  She woke up with it simmering in her guts.  Ate it, drank it, brushed her teeth with it...it was in the very air she breathed, choking her.  It coated her tongue with acid and spilled over onto every word she spoke.

 _“Debbie!”_  Fiona’s sharp voice reminded her that her sister was still waiting for an answer.  When Debbie just stared at her blankly, Fiona’s expression went from exasperated to angry.  “This has gone on long enough.  Every single one of us has been putting up with your shit for months, ever since -”  she broke off suddenly, the anger leaving her face.

“Since the abortion _you_ wanted me to have?”  Debbie snarled at her.

Fiona gasped at that. “I didn’t force you, Debbie.  We all decided - “  

“We didn’t!   _You_ did!”  Debbie whirled away from her, grabbing her backpack from next to the bed so she wouldn’t have to look at Fiona; so her sister wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

Fiona was back on the defensive.  “Are we going to keep doing this, Debbie?  Keep pretending?  You and Derek didn’t really want this.  That’s what it came down to.  And we let you make that choice.  And now, because it hurts, you want someone to blame.”

Debbie kept her back towards Fiona, arms crossed tightly across her chest, biting her trembling lip.

“Things are going to have to change around here,” Fiona was saying now, her taut tone conveying how frustrated she was by Debbie’s unwillingness to reply.

Debbie spun around to face her. “Yeah?  Like what?”  she challenged.

“Like _this_ ,” Fiona moved forward, catching Debbie’s arm and shoving up the sweater sleeve before Debbie could stop her.

“Get off me!”  Debbie shrieked, jumping away, but it was too late.  The red, healing marks had already been exposed, and there was no going back.

“Dammit, Debbie,”  Fiona blinked rapidly.  “What the hell have you been doing to yourself?”  There was despair in her voice, but no real surprise.  She'd already known, Debbie realized with a dull pang.

“It’s none of your business!”  Debbie yelled at her, backing up until she was pressed against the wall, each hand holding the opposite sleeve down as if Fiona would rush her and expose her all over again.

“None of my - “ Fiona stared at her.  “Are you kidding me?  Because if you think we’re going to ignore this, you’re dead wrong.  You’re gonna stop what you’re doing, or I’m going to - “  Fiona looked around as if desperately awaiting answers before she continued.  “I’ll take you to a hospital or wherever the fuck I have to.  I’ll get you help whether you like it or not.”

Debbie gasped, shrinking back.  “You’d lock me up?  Like you and Mickey and Lip did to Ian?”

“I didn’t lock Ian -!”  Fiona broke off in exasperation.  “Goddammit, you were there, you know how bad he needed help.  We couldn’t pretend that away, and I’m not going to do it with you either.”

“So you would,”  Debbie was backing away, her eyes filling.  “You’d do that to me.”

“Debbie, I don’t know.  I don’t know anything right now.”  Fiona sagged back, looking utterly defeated.  “But we have to do something.  Look, I’m late.  I have to drop Liam off and get to work.  You’ve got to get to school.  We’ll talk about this later, OK?  All of us,”  she shot one last look at Debbie.  “Tonight.”  With that, she turned and headed down the stairs.

All of us.  That meant all of _them_.  Fiona, Lip, maybe even Ian.  Hell, they’d probably call Kev and V to see what they thought.  Everyone would have a say on what poor, crazy Debbie should do - except Debbie.

Two seconds of frozen indecision, and she was moving, even as she heard the door slam downstairs and the house fall silent.  Debbie grabbed her backpack and upended the contents on her bed.  It fell into a messy jumble of books, papers, and pens.  Hurriedly, as if Fiona might guess her plans and come back, she filled it full, a couple of jeans and shirts and a few changes of bra and underwear was enough to stuff it full.  She threw her mp3 player in after it, and after a few second’s hesitation her phone.  She’d keep it off most the of the time so they couldn’t track her but she might need it for emergencies.

That done, she grabbed her pink porcelain piggy bank from her bedside table, the one she’d been using since she got it one Christmas when she was five.  The piggy’s eyes blinked at her woefully, as if guessing what she was going to do, then mercilessly Debbie smashed it against the side table.  It shattered into a pile of porcelain shards, dust, coins, and bills.  Quickly, she gathered up all the money.  It was maybe thirty bucks at most - that wasn’t going to get her far, but it was a start.

It wasn’t until she was out the door that she considered exactly where the hell she was going to go.  It had all seemed so easy inside but now, out here with cars whizzing by and the occasional stare of a random passer-by, she felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed, and very very stupid.   Kev and V wouldn’t help her hide out from her family and Frank would sell her out for a drag of a cigarette.  And her friends - she stifled a laugh at that.  Like she had any.  Holly and Ellie had ditched her ages ago and all the new friends she’d made since then she’d lost in the aftermath of what happened with her and Derek.

God, she missed Mandy Milkovich.  Mandy would have helped her.  Would have listened and understood everything and would give her a place to lay low without any lectures.   But Mandy was long gone.  No forwarding address, no phone number, she’d just up and left with that creep boyfriend of hers one day like nothing else mattered.  Including Debbie.  

Debbie stopped abruptly on the sidewalk as a sudden realization hit her.   Maybe Mandy was gone - but maybe, just maybe, there was another Milkovich she could turn to...

Praying this was the right hoodie, Debbie closed her eyes and dug in the pocket, nearly dancing with relief when her fingers closed over the folded piece of paper with the address she’d gotten off of Google over a week ago.   

Still, she hesitated for a long moment.  The odds of Mickey welcoming her with open arms...well, they were pretty damn low, if she was being honest with herself.

But considering the alternative, it was a chance she was definitely willing to take.

* * *

Mondays oughta be fucking illegal.  

Mickey slumped over in his chair, head nearly touching his desk, as he massaged his throbbing temples.  Mornings in general were a fucking crime against humanity.  Wistfully, he thought back to the past where he had no idea what day of the week it was half the time - drank himself to sleep somewhere around dawn and woke up whenever he fucking felt like it.  

Of course, the drinking himself to sleep might still be a factor, if the pain exploding behind his eyes and gnawing at his gut was any indication.

“Mickey,” a voice snapped from the doorway.  Reluctantly, Mickey opened his blurry eyes to see his wife standing in front of him, tapping her foot and waving a Post It in front of his face accusingly.  “You overbooked us again.”

Mickey squinted at it, recognizing his own handwriting, but the words swam on the paper and he couldn’t put rhyme or reason to them.  “Get that shit away from me,” he mumbled.  

Svetlana exhaled loudly.  “You see this?”  she pointed at the calendar hanging on the wall behind him.  “I write down every job we have so you know what days we have free to schedule.  Still, you answer phone and book customers for any day they ask for without looking.  We already have two jobs that day!  What are we supposed to do?”

“Svet,”  Mickey rubbed his throbbing forehead.  “Can you just fuck off and get me some coffee or something?”

“I am your partner, not your fucking secretary!  In case you do not remember, this whole business was my idea.  Get your own fucking coffee!”  With that, she stormed out of the tiny office.

Mickey winced as the sound of the door banging behind her sent off another wave of tiny explosions in his aching skull.  “Wasn’t her idea,” he muttered under his breath defensively, massaging his temples once more.  Well, not just her idea, anyway...

_“You got to be fucking kidding me,”  Mickey stood in front of the truck in the fast falling gloom.  “The moving truck scam again?  Too much heat for that!”_

_“Not scam,”  Svetlana put her hands on her hips impatiently.  “For real this time.”_

_Mickey, Iggy, and Colin all stared at her.  “What?”_

_“Why not?”  Svetlana demanded impatiently.  “You were good at it.  All of you,” she swung her gaze to include her brothers-in-law.  “You got customers.  You know how to pack and move furniture.  We can do this.”_

_“No, we can’t,”  Mickey stared at her in disbelief.  “You need all sorts of shit to start a business, headquarters, start up capital, equipment, a fucking business license…”_

_“So get one,”  Svetlana looked like she was rapidly losing patience.  “And we didn’t have headquarters or capital last time.  We start small, build up.  What else are you doing to do?  You have criminal record and no diploma.  Besides, truck is right here.”_

_“Yeah, and do you want it or not?”  An impatient voice broke in.  Houssam, the man who’d rented his truck to Mickey for the moving scam, was standing next to them, arms folded across his chest.  “Not going to wait all night.”_

_Svetlana raised an eyebrow at Mickey challengingly._

_“How much?”  Mickey asked, resigned to at least asking, knowing it didn’t matter what figure Houssam named.  He didn’t have any money to spare - it all had to go to their new place._

_“Three grand.  Cash.”_

_“Fuck that,”  Mickey started to turn away, but Svetlana stepped forward, placing a roll of bills into Houssam’s hand._

_Houssam looked at the money in disgust.  “I don’t take payments.  Three grand or no deal.”_

_“You take payments,”  Svetlana scoffed.  “Else your wife gets call where I describe birthmark on your ass in detail.  Among other things.”_

_Houssam hissed something under his breath, glaring back at her.  They were at silent stand off for several seconds until Colin and Iggy moved forward to flank her._

_“Fine,”  Houssam’s shoulders slumped and he dug a set of keys out of his pocket, tossing them to her._

_Svetlana took them with a broad smile, turning back to Mickey.  “Looks like we’re in business now, yeah?”_

_Mickey broke into a reluctant returning smile.  “Yeah.  Looks like we are.”_

 

It may have been Svetlana’s idea, but once it became reality, Mickey threw himself into their new business with everything he had. He wanted to succeed.  For once, he wanted to do something right.  For himself, yeah.  But for Iggy and Colin too.  They’d had it beat in their heads their whole lives that Milkovichs weren’t good for anything but a life of crime and growing old behind bars.  Now the three of them had something real, something important.  Something that could change their lives.  Something he could leave to his son, something besides a legacy of shame.

So he scammed, bargained and threatened equipment out of his suppliers.  Hunted down jobs with rabid ferocity, making his fair share of enemies along the way - Mickey had quickly found that a foolproof way to steal customers was to brutally undercut the competition.  To say that he wasn’t too popular among his fellow moving company owners would be an understatement.  But he wasn’t doing this to win friends.  

And after long days on the job, he stayed up night after night, researching taxes and business licenses and advertising until his head hurt worse than it did right now.  It would all be worth it if they could make this work.  

Now here they were.  It was a never-ending grind, but being his own boss was worth it.  He made his own hours and his own decisions without having to deal with much bullshit from anyone else.  Especially since they were essentially a family business - Svetlana kept everything organized and running smoothly - she was a born manager.  Iggy and Colin were their primary moving crew though Mickey frequently hired extra help for big jobs and now had a stable of regulars he could call in when needed.  They’d even made enough to purchase a second truck..  So far, it was coming together.

In the outer office, Yevgeny shrieked with laughter over something and the sound sunk into Mickey’s pounding head, his stomach churning again.  He forced himself to his feet,  opening the door and heading  towards the coffee maker in the corner.

“Mickey,”  Svetlana’s voice drilled into his head once.

He stopped reluctantly to glare in her direction.  “What?”

“Dan is here,”  Svetlana indicated the man standing beside her.  He was the source of Yevgeny’s laughter too, Mickey saw, as he balanced the toddler on the top of his feet, skipping forward a step or two at a time while Yevgeny yelped with glee.

Mickey hadn’t recognized the name at first, but that face, in serious need of a shave, coupled with an easy going grin, brought recognition quickly.  Dan owned the garage where they’d started taking the trucks for regular servicing.  He’d done a full detail job on both of them last week, giving Mickey a sweet deal for it.

“Cute kid,” Dan said when he saw Mickey looking.  “Comes by it naturally.”

“Sure,” Mickey grunted, intent on filling his cup and wishing the guy would wait until he wasn’t around to flirt with Svetlana.  He didn’t want to know about that shit. “So what brings you by?”  

Dan grinned at him, running a hand over his shaggy hair.  “Just making sure you’re still a satisfied customer.”

“Yeah, the trucks look great.  Running perfect too.   You do good work,”  Mickey grimaced as he took a sip of steaming coffee and immediately burned the fuck out of his mouth.  

“Glad you think so.  Keep coming back then, huh?”  Dan stepped closer, pulling a small card out of his pocket and handing it to Mickey.  “Got all my numbers if you need some more work done.  Wrote my cell on the back too in case something comes up after hours.”

Iggy and Colin snickered in the corner as Mickey took the card, slightly confused.  “Sure.  Thanks.”

The door had barely closed behind Dan when Iggy walked up to Mickey, still grinning.  “So, Dan the Man, huh?  What do you think of him?”

“Uh…”  Mickey paused in the act of burning the last remaining taste buds off of his tongue.  “He’s a good mechanic.  Why?”

He was met by riotous laughter from his brothers at this.  Even Gerry, one of their regular crew, was cracking up.  The only person who didn’t look amused, aside from Mickey, was Svetlana.  She scowled as Iggy held out his hand to her.  

“Pay up, Svet, I told you he didn’t have a clue,” Iggy looked over at his brother as Svetlana slapped a bill into his hand.  “Jesus, Mickey, how the fuck is it that _I_ got better gaydar than you do?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”  Mickey demanded, shooting a wary look at Gerry at the same time.  

“Dan, you fucktard!  He’s so fucking hot for your ass!”  

“No, he isn’t, and shut the fuck up!”  Mickey glared at Iggy fiercely.

“He is definitely hot for your ass,”  Gerry chimed in.  He was sitting on the couch in what they considered their reception area, looking, as always, like a walking advertisement for a local biker’s convention.  At Mickey’s look, he raised an eyebrow.  “Seems like a decent guy, too.  Maybe you should give him a call.”

“But - what… “  Mickey stammered.

“Don’t sweat it, man. I know you’re gay.  Everyone who works here knows you’re gay,”  Gerry shook his impressively long, graying hair back and returned to the newspaper he was holding.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to be a secret anymore,”  Colin looked confused, as usual.  “Was it a secret?”  he looked mildly alarmed at that.

Everyone was looking at Mickey now.  “No,” he managed finally.  “But…”  he looked again at Gerry.  “ _Everyone_ knows?”

“Might have something to do with all the guys you pick up,” Svetlana smirked.  “You do more business than I did when I was getting paid,” she laughed at the look he shot her before they all heard the phone ringing in Mickey’s office.  She disappeared in that direction without another word.

“Shit,”  Mickey slumped on the couch next to Gerry.  “That’s fucking great.”

“Hey, nothing to be ashamed of,”  Gerry dropped the newspaper, looking mildly indignant.

“It’s not that,”  Mickey grumbled after a moment.  “Just...Svet and I are supposed to be married and shit.  How the fuck are we supposed to pull this off with the INS if everyone fucking knows?”

“It’s not like we’re calling them,”  Gerry slapped Mickey’s shoulder.  “Besides, you got a kid with her.  That’s half the battle right there far as INS is concerned.  You fucked and procreated; now you can ignore each other and divorce later just like any other couple.”  

“Yeah, I guess,”  Mickey rubbed the bridge of his nose.  It was still just...weird, off-setting, hearing himself described as gay.  And he was just sitting there, letting it happen...believing it, even, after a lifetime of fighting it.

It shouldn’t really have been a surprise though.  Not like he could really close a door that he’d kicked open the way he did that night at the Alibi.  Couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle.  It was just that, back then, he hadn’t ever imagined he’d been navigating this new world by himself.

Internally, he flinched away from that dangerous territory, just as Gerry moved closer, eyes, twinkling.  “So...Dan, huh?”

“Shut up,”  Mickey stood up, just as the bells tied to the entry door jangled.  

A second later, Debbie Gallagher walked in and his stomach plummeted harder than a hapless bungee jumper who’d misjudged the mark.

* * *

“You OK, Fiona?”  Jackie asked quietly, stopping next to the coffee station where Fiona was filling up a fresh pot to take on her rounds.

Fiona looked up, startled.  “That obvious, huh?”

Jackie shrugged.  “A little.”

Fiona sighed.  “Just...kinda got into it with Debbie this morning.”

“Those hormones really raging, huh?”  Jackie filled up her own coffee pot and looked up at Fiona expectantly.

“Yeah, tell me about it,”  Fiona flashed a quick smile as Jackie moved off, but it faded as soon as the other woman was out of sight.  Blaming what was going on between her and Debbie on hormones was nothing but an excuse she’d been making to herself for month.  It was so much more more than that. But there was no point in lingering on it right now.  They’d talk it out tonight, get things back on solid ground.

Fiona began her rounds,  stopping by the table of an elderly woman who was flipping through a fat organizer, a sour look on her face.

“Would you like some more?”  she indicated the woman’s cup of coffee.

The woman glowered.  “What I want is to go back in time ten minutes and sock the nitwit who gave me decaf before this poison ever touched my lips.  But I’ll settle for a fresh cup,” she shoved her mug at Fiona.

“Sorry about that!  Coming right up,”  Fiona tossed the offending cup on her tray.  “Tell you what.  I’ll bring you a cup of my personal morning brew instead. Strong enough to wake the dead, guaranteed.”

She was rewarded with a small smile at that.  “Shake a leg, honey.  Stubbornness and caffeine are about all that’s keeping me above ground these days,” the woman stuck her nose back in her organizer.

“Hey,”  Jackie touched Fiona on the arm once she was done delivering the old lady’s fresh coffee.  “Guy over there asked for you specifically.  How do you manage to keep doing that, anyway?”  

“What?”  Fiona looked up, startled, as Jackie moved away, grinning.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sean lift his head, looking in her direction.  Quickly, she looked away, towards the man seated at the corner booth Jackie had indicated.  

The man looked back at her steadily.  He was a nice enough looking guy, pale with just a tint of olive, short cropped brown hair, and tired eyes.  He held a vague familiarity, but nothing she could place her finger on.  

“Hello,”  she walked up to him, bright smile and pad at the ready.  “How can I help you today?”

“Hello, Fiona,” the man said.  His smile was slight, and faded quickly.

It was the accent that brought it all back to her.  Forgetting herself, Fiona dropped the pad on the table, sliding into the booth across from the man.  “You!  You brought me money after Jimmy split a couple of years back!”

The man blinked.  “I am gratified you remember me.”

She opened her mouth to speak again but his hand was quicker, flashing across the table to gently grasp her wrist, forestalling her.  “I need to know where he is, Fiona.”

Fiona pulled her hand away.  “Where who is?”  she asked, smiling blandly to cover her suddenly pounding heart.

He leaned forward, keeping his voice quiet, but determined.  “You know who.  Your rolling stone.  Steve.  Jimmy.  Jack.  Whatever name he goes by now does not interest me.  I need to know where he is.”

Fiona stood up rapidly.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sean staring at them from across the dining room.  “Sorry.  Haven’t seen him since way back then.  Have you decided what you want to order?”  she picked up her pen and pad again, waiting.

The man sighed, looking up at her.  “I did not think you would tell me easily.  Maybe we should discuss this over dinner,” he stood up, pushing his cup of coffee away, then reached into his pocket, casually tossing a fifty on the table.  “Keep the change.  I’ll see you soon.”  He strode away and out the front door, leaving her staring after him.

“What was that all about?”  Sean asked, coming up beside her.

Fiona shrugged, looking back at the now empty table. “Nothing.  Ancient history.”

“Hmm,”  Sean raised an eyebrow.  “And yet your ancient history seems to have this miraculous way of continuing to show up here at my diner.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Fiona demanded, feeling her shoulders tense defensively.

“You know what I mean,”  Sean began, but stopped at the look on Fiona’s face.  “Forget it.  Look…” he moved closer, rubbing her shoulders.  “I want to see you tonight.”

It was hard not to lose herself in the warmth of his hands, but Fiona did her best.  “I’m losing track here, Sean...are we off or on at the moment?”

Sean sighed deeply, releasing her and stepping back.  “Fiona, you know how I feel about you.  I just -”  he dropped his hands.  “Can we talk about it tonight?  My place?”

Fiona hesitated.  “Sean -”

They were cut off by Jackie, calling Fiona’s name.  The look on her face had Fiona hurrying over to the counter, where Jackie was holding the phone.

“It’s Debbie’s school,” she said as she handed it to Fiona, and her next words washed any thought of Sean or the mystery man right out of Fiona’s head.  “They say she never showed up today.”

* * *

Mickey stood still, stunned, as Debbie looked around the office, wide-eyed, before meeting his gaze.  “Hi, Mickey,” she smiled nervously.  “Long time, huh?”

It was the sound of her voice that broke through his shock.  “No.  No fucking way,”  he pointed at the door.  “Turn right the fuck around and go back the way you came.”

Debbie wasn’t listening.  “Is this... _yours_?”  she was gazing around the office in open-mouthed amazement.  “Holy shit!” she gasped as she spied the paper attached to a corner of the window, wandering closer for careful perusal.  “A business license?  Mickey Milkovich has a business license?  What kind of world is this?  Hey, did you know you’re on Google?”

“I am. not. fucking. doing. this,”  Mickey growled through gritted teeth.  “I will give you cab fare, OK?  Just hit the rails and don’t come back!”

“I can’t,”  Debbie said, clenching her jaw.  Her voice was defiant but Mickey saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Why the fuck not?”  he snapped back, trying not to notice.

“Because I ran away,”  Debbie’s voice broke slightly.

“Jesus Christ,”  Mickey groaned.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iggy, Colin, and Gerry all staring at them.  “Enjoying the show?” he snapped.  “Don’t you three have a job to do?”

Muttering to each other under their breath, the three men sidled past and out the back to where the trucks were parked.

Mickey turned back, fervently disappointed to find Debbie hadn’t magically disappeared.  “Why the hell would you come here?”

“Stupid, I guess,” Debbie blinked rapidly, fighting to regain composure.  “My mistake.  Just give me Mandy’s phone number and I’ll get out of your way.”

“Why?”  Mickey stared at her in blatant disbelief.  “You think you can go hide out in Indiana instead?  How the fuck are you going to get there?”

“Bus. I have money,”  Debbie said tightly and he could see she was bluffing.

“Sure.  Even if you did, wouldn’t do you a fucking bit of good.”

“Why?”  Debbie began to ask but Svetlana had appeared from Mickey’s office, carrying a folder, head down as she flipped through the contents.  

“Fixed your fuck up,” she told him without looking up.  “Montoyas let me reschedule, but had to give them twenty percent discount.”

“Twenty percent?!”  Mickey started to object, then stopped.  “Never mind.  Take care of this shit, would you?”

“What -”  Svetlana looked up, then froze, her eyes on Debbie, face hardening immediately.  “What is _she_ doing here?”

“She fucking ran away!”  Mickey was dangerously close to losing it.  “Just...handle it, fix whatever the problem is, and make her go away.  Poof, gone.  OK?”

Svetlana gave him a narrow eyed glare that told him he was going to pay for this later, but mercifully, she did not refuse.  She turned her gaze back on Debbie, visibly softening as she looked at the young girl’s miserable expression and teary eyes.  “Come on.  We go upstairs.  You can tell me all about it.”

“No, Svet, not to our - “  Mickey began frantically.

“You need to watch Yevgeny,”  Svetlana tossed over her shoulder as the two of them disappeared out the door, leaving Mickey to wonder what just had happened to his carefully cultivated Gallagher free existence.

***

The next few hours passed far too slowly.  Svetlana did not make a reappearance downstairs.  Mickey filled the time as best he could, following up on a few job leads, renewed his online advertising, and taking Yevgeny to McDonald’s for dinner.  The two of them were back in his office now.  It was past dark and eerily quiet, everyone else had already gone home for the evening.

Yevgeny toddled over, holding up a damp and well chewed rubber truck for inspection.  “Igrat?”  he blinked up at Mickey.

“Kid, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying,”  Mickey took the truck anyway.   “Nice,” he told the boy.

By the way Yevgeny was side-eyeing him, he clearly doubted his father’s sincerity.  The toddler slumped down on the floor, lower lip jutting out.  After a few seconds he let out a few choking sobs, his eyes starting to droop.

Mickey sighed.  “Bedtime for you, huh?”  Well, fuck.  Looked like he couldn’t avoid going upstairs forever.  With luck, Debbie was long gone and he could pretend none of this ever happened.  “OK, we’re going.  Just give me a few…”  he opened up his desk drawer, pulling out the half empty bottle of whiskey.  “One for the road, huh?”  he chuckled drily, lifting it to his lips.

Yevgeny stared at him, lip curling slightly.  Maybe Mickey was imagining the amount of judgement in that look but it still soured the liquor before it ever touched his tongue.  “Jesus, kid.  Do I ever give you shit about your pacifier problem?  Why you gotta be up in my business?”

Yevgeny blinked at him dourly.

“Fine,”  Mickey threw the bottle back in the drawer without opening it.  “Upstairs, it is,” he hoisted his son in his arms.

They were at their front door in a matter of minutes.  Mickey hesitated for several long seconds before he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“About time,”  Svetlana was standing in front of the couch, her back to him as she fussed with the sheet she was tucking over the cushions.  Mickey tensed as he saw Debbie standing next to her, turning to look at them with wide eyes.

“Oh my God!”  Debbie squealed, hands flying to her mouth as she looked at Yevgeny in Mickey’s arms.  “He’s gotten so big!”  Hesitantly, she stepped forward.  “Can I hold him?”

“Um…he doesn’t always like strangers,”  Mickey muttered but Yevgeny was already leaning towards Debbie’s outstretched arms.  Reluctantly, he surrendered the traitor, who immediately began babbling excitedly to his new companion as he tugged on her bright hair.

“He’s so cute!”  Debbie bounced Yevgeny on her hip, beaming.  “I wish Ian-”  she broke off immediately at the look on Mickey’s face.  

“He’s gotta go to bed,”  Mickey managed to choke out even as his throat tightened, unable to stop himself from imagining another redhead Gallagher holding Yevgeny.  He started to reach for his son.

“Oh, I can do that,”  Debbie turned towards the hallway.  “His room is back there?”

“Yes,”  Svetlana spoke over the objection Mickey had been about to voice.  “Pajamas are in top drawer of his dresser.  He likes storytime before sleep.”

“Got it,”  Debbie disappeared in that direction.

“What the fuck, Svet?”  Mickey demanded, turning to his wife before glancing at the bed she was making on the couch with an accusatory air.  “Why is she still here?”

“She needs safe place to stay,”  Svetlana wasn’t looking at him, back to tucking in the blankets for the makeshift couch bed with exaggerated care.

“Why?  What the fuck is her problem?”  

“Girl stuff,”  Svetlana looked up at him.  “You would not understand.”

“I don’t care!”  Mickey burst out.  “She can’t stay here!”

“I have tried talking to her,”  Svetlana shook her head.  “She is not listening.  We send her away now, she will not go back home.  She will just keep running.”

“Not our problem,”  Mickey bit out.  “Call Fiona if you have to!  Call the cops and report her as a runaway, let Juvenile Services sort this shit out!  Just get her the fuck out of here!”

“What, you think I like this?”  Svetlana whirled around to face him.  “Having her around to make you remember, to open that door again, back to _him_?”  she raised an eyebrow when Mickey flinched.   “He is bad for you.  Like a drug and you are addict for him.  One hit and he is all you can think about.  You forget about everything else.  You forget about your son.”  

“So why the fuck are you letting her stay?”  Mickey side-stepped.

“What else can we do?  We throw her out, what then?  You know what happens to girls like her, on the street by themselves?  Because I do.  I will not be part of that,” Svetlana fell silent, her jaw clenched, eyes turned away from Mickey towards something he couldn’t see.

Hesitantly, Mickey sat down next to her.  Svetlana still refused to look at him.

“You OK?”  he asked after a moment.

She made an angry, scoffing sound.  “You have never cared before, do not pretend like you do now.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so Mickey just sat there with her, breathing in an all too familiar mixture of guilt and resentment.

Just as he’d made up his mind to go, Svetlana looked up.

“Sorry,”  she murmured.  “Long day.”

Mickey exhaled, scratching his nose.  “Me too,” he muttered uncomfortably.

Svetlana stood up then.  “I will go check on them,”  she said as she passed him.

Mickey stood up too.  “I’m not leaving,” he blurted out.

Svetlana turned to stare at him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.  I’m not just gonna walk away from my son.  Not again.” he looked at her.

Svetlana didn’t respond; just continued to watch him for a long moment.

“Look,” he changed the subject.  “I guess we’re stuck for tonight.  Tomorrow we’ll figure out what we’re gonna do with her.”

Svetlana shot him a faint smile at that before she turned and left the room without another word.

Mickey sighed heavily.  Shit.  Seemed like it was fucking raining Gallaghers these days, and he was fresh out of motherfucking umbrellas.

***

Mickey woke up the next morning after a couple hours of unsatisfying sleep to the smell of bacon frying and the sweet scent of pancakes.  He stumbled into their small dinette to find a bemused Svetlana sitting at the table, being served breakfast by Debbie.  Next to them, Yevgeny was in his high chair, tearing apart his own pancakes gleefully.

“Good morning!”  Debbie said brightly.  “Sit down; yours is coming right up!”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  Mickey snapped as he took his seat.  

“Figured breakfast was the least I could do to thank you guys for letting me stay,”  Debbie said brightly, filling his plate.

“Whatever,”  Mickey grumbled, but he couldn’t help the way his mouth was watering.  He couldn’t help himself; those pancakes smelled fucking delicious.

After he’d ate and dressed, he came back into the kitchen to find Debbie scouring the kitchen counters.  Svetlana shook her head at him when he came in, shrugging her shoulders.

“Knock that shit off,”  Mickey told Debbie, taking the sponge out of her hands and throwing it into the sink.  “It’s not gonna make me change my mind.  You can’t stay.  This isn’t a shelter.”

Debbie bit her lip.  “I could be a lot of help to you, you know.  I can watch Yevgeny whenever you want.  I’ll cook, I’ll clean, I’ll help out downstairs.  I’m good with paperwork and accounting.  I promise you, I won’t be any trouble.  Just don’t make me - “ her voice broke.

Svetlana sighed heavily, looking helplessly at Mickey.  “I have to get Yevgeny dressed,” she said finally, turning towards her syrup covered son, still in his high chair.

“Oh, I can do that!”  Debbie intercepted her, lifting Yevgeny out of his chair.  “Come on, Yev, let’s get you into a quick bath, then you can show me what you want to wear today!”  she spirited the boy off before either one of them could object.

“I could get used to this,”  Svetlana admitted after a minute.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,”  Mickey grunted.  “This calls for strategy.  We’re gonna have to smoke her out.  Make her fucking miserable.  When she’s done in there, bring her downstairs.  We’ll put her to work.  She thinks all she’ll have to do is file papers?  Fuck that; I’ll send her out with the boys.  Ten hours of hauling furniture and she’ll be crying to go home.”

“If you say so,”  Svetlana shrugged.  

Debbie made an appearance in the office thirty minutes later, eyes bright, looking around eagerly.  

“Debbie Gallagher,”  Iggy drawled, leaning against the wall.  “Hear you’re our latest victim.  You ready for some real work?”

“Sure!”  Debbie was entirely too enthusiastic; it was making Mickey’s head throb.  

“We’ll see how sure you are at the end of the day,”  Mickey informed her.  “You’re going out with the guys; we’re short on crew.”

“Great!”  Debbie beamed.

“You need a shirt,”  Colin butted in, grinning to match Debbie’s smile.  He patted the logo on his own blue shirt happily.  “We got some extras; I can get you one!”  

Mickey frowned as he noticed the reddish splotches on Colin’s shirt at that.  “Colin, what the fuck is that?”

“Oh,”  Colin grinned unabashedly.  “Me and Iggy had to get rid of a guy at our place who wasn’t paying his rent.  There was a lot of blood.”  

Mickey closed his eyes in exasperation.  “Colin, how many fucking times do I gotta tell you to do that shit on your own time, and not while you’re in your work clothes?  We’re trying to be respectable here!”  he shook his head at Colin’s blank expression, turning towards Iggy.  “You’re supposed to be watching him, you know, making sure he doesn’t do shit like this!”

Iggy shrugged unconcernedly.  Mickey restrained himself - barely - from knocking his brothers’ skulls together.  “Colin, get yourself a clean shirt,” he indicated the cardboard boxes in the corner.

“Will you grab me one too?”  Debbie asked as Colin ambled over.  She turned back to Mickey.  “I can’t believe you guys have uniforms and everything!”

“Shirts,” Mickey corrected.  “We have shirts.”

“Yeah, speaking of, why don’t you have to wear this ugly ass shit?”  Iggy smoothed his hand over his blue polyester, scowling.

“Because I’m the boss,”  Mickey answered impatiently, waiting for Colin to finish digging through the boxes.

“Yeah, who the fuck decided that?”  Iggy scoffed, folding his arms.

“Iggy, you got any interest at all in learning what Section 179 of the IRS Code is?”  

“No,”  Iggy admitted after a minute.

“Then shut the fuck up,”  Mickey turned back to Colin, who was holding a shirt up for Debbie’s inspection.

“That looks like a small,”  Debbie shook her head.  “Got a medium in there?”

When Colin didn’t immediately respond, she looked up.  Colin was looking over the boxes anxiously.

“Medium,”  Debbie said a little bit louder.

Colin tentatively picked up another shirt.  “This one?”

Debbie shot a confused look at Mickey, who raised his eyebrows at her significantly.  After a few seconds her eyes lit in understanding.  “Oh!”  she turned back to Colin.  “I think they might be in the other box,” she smiled at him.

“Oh!  I see!  It has an M on it, right?”  Colin smiled back proudly, tossing her the correct shirt.

“Yep, it sure does!”  Debbie said, a little over exuberantly.  

Looking greatly pleased with himself, Colin pulled out his phone.  “Hey Debbie, I got a cat!  Do you want to see some pictures?”

“Not right now, Colin,”  Mickey broke in.  “Go change or you’re gonna be late.”  

Once Colin had gone, Debbie turned back to Mickey.  “So, Colin...I didn’t know,”  she said quietly.

“Didn’t know what?”  Mickey snapped at her.  “That he can’t read?  That he can’t tie his own shoes, even?  What about it?”

“Sorry,”  Debbie said hastily.  “I didn’t mean anything bad.  I just - I mean, I’ve never really talked to him before -” she broke off, flushing slightly.

“Colin’s not exactly big on in depth conversation,” Mickey muttered.  

“What’s wrong with him?”  Debbie asked carefully after a moment.

His first instinct was to continue to be defensive, but fuck it...there was no point in pretending.  “Nobody really knows,” he finally said.  “Maybe Mom did too many drugs when she was pregnant, maybe he got dropped as a baby, hell, maybe Dad kicked him in the head too many times,” he shrugged.

“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to find out?”  Debbie asked.

“Sure,”  Mickey shrugged.  “Every couple of years someone at whatever school he was at would start making noise about having him evaluated and putting him in Special Ed, but our dad shut that shit down real quick.  Said he wasn’t having his son labeled a retard,” he sighed.  

“That’s so sad,”  Debbie had an alarming glint in her eyes.  

“Why?”  Mickey lost all patience at the pitying tone of her voice.  “Just because Colin ain’t like everyone else he automatically has a bad life? Look, he’s happier than shit.  He has two jobs and he’s good at both of them.  We got him a Playstation and a kitten and Terry isn’t around to beat on him anymore.  We take good care of him.  Always have and always will.”

Debbie smiled at that, taking her shirt and turning towards the bathroom as Colin exited.  

“Hey,”  Mickey called Iggy over as soon as she was out of hearing distance.  “Don’t take it easy on her today.  Make sure she does her share and then some.  And let Colin play her his slideshow of cat pictures whenever you guys get a break.   _All_ of them.”

“Even the one with the background music?”  Iggy looked mildly horrified at that.  “You’re fucking cold, Mickey.”  

Mickey smirked at that.  At this rate, he’d been surprised if Debbie made it through the day.

***

As it turned out, it was a good thing that Mickey hadn’t laid any odds on the likelihood of Debbie sticking around.  That night, Colin and Iggy shuffled back into the office looking sweaty and exhausted, in complete contrast to Debbie, who walked in beaming, seeming like she’d had the time of her life.  

Mickey grabbed Iggy by the shoulder, dragging him off to the side  “What the fuck, man?  I told you not to take it easy on her!”

“Didn’t!”  Iggy protested, shoving Mickey back.   “We tried to wear the kid out, but I gotta say, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.  Better think of a new plan, bro, because this one ain’t working. Or just keep her around.  Colin likes her.  And she was actually a lot of help,” he grinned at Mickey’s scowl.  “Your call, boss.”

“Mickey!”  Debbie danced up to him. “I did pretty good for my first day!  I told you I could help!”  she gave him a triumphant look.  

“Yeah.  Great,”  Mickey mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m going to shower,”  Debbie moved away from him, towards the door.  “Then I’ll get dinner started.  See you upstairs!”  With that, she dashed away, leaving Mickey rubbing his forehead, at a complete loss for what to do next.

On the plus side, at least the chances of him enjoying delicious pancake fare on the morrow were looking way the fuck up.

***

The next day was a near repeat of Debbie’s first day with them.  Mickey had not been wrong about those pancakes, and he enjoyed them without a trace of guilt, but by afternoon his head was pounding.  What the fuck were they going to do?  He knew by now Fiona and...everyone else must be going out of their minds with worry.  It was only a matter of time before this blew up in their faces.  He didn’t want to know what kind of trouble they could be in for harboring a runaway, or what their INS officer would say about their new household member if he were to show up unexpectedly.

But even if none of that happened, Debbie’s presence was setting up an inevitable collision course.  Eventually, someway, somehow,  her family was going to find out where she was.  And when that happened, Mickey was going to have a massive Gallagher shitstorm on his hands.

And that, he could not handle.  It had taken everything he had to rebuild a life that had once revolved around one particular Gallagher and these days, it felt like his grasp on his new world was growing more and more tentative, the past growing stronger, trying to tug him backwards.  

He wasn’t going back.  No fucking way.  He couldn’t lose this too.

“Mickey?”  He looked up at the sound of his name.

“You ready for me to make lunch?”  Debbie asked hesitantly after a moment.

They were back in the apartment; no jobs booked for the day so Debbie had stayed upstairs to entertain Yevgeny.  Mickey had come up intending to talk to her, but really, he had no fucking idea what to say.  

“Uh - feed the kid if he’s hungry,”  Mickey muttered after a moment.  

“He’s napping,”  Debbie plopped herself down on the couch next to Mickey. She was silent for a long moment, but he could feel that she was suppressing something.

“Out with it,” he finally said impatiently.  “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing much,”  Debbie shuffled her feet.  “I just wanted to tell you that…”  she took a deep breath.  “This is gonna sound stupid but I’m like...proud of you.”

“What?”  Mickey stared at her.

“Just...everything you’ve done here.  Leaving everything, starting a business, taking care of your family - you’ve come a long way, Mickey.   It couldn’t have been easy.”

No, Mickey thought to himself.  It hadn’t been.  In the least.  But he hadn’t done any of it alone.  And he had to admit, he’d been the recipient of some incredibly lucky breaks along the way…

_The old lady that Mickey had agreed to rent the apartment from hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was a dump.  The place was a fucking hovel; a literal pisshole with sporadic electricity and heat and every single crime demographic available six feet beyond their front door.  Still, they made the best of it, the four of them and Yevgeny.  Their main focus during that time, besides trying not to get robbed, was getting the moving business up and running.  It felt nearly impossible at times though running a Craigslist ad at least brought them some business from folks too broke to hire a proper moving company._

_Still, they were surviving a lot better than Mickey had anticipated, keeping food on the table and the bills somewhat paid.  He'd even been able to pay the rent on time nearly every month so he had felt comfortable enough to call Gerda, the landlady and demand that she have the place exterminated after Svetlana had found roaches in Yevgeny’s crib mattress and had a total meltdown._

_Gerda had showed up that night in a cloud of cigarette smoke and old lady perfume, face puckered into a wrinkly scowl._

_“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me to call an exterminator?”  She'd demanded as soon as he opened the door, pushing her way past him.  She whipped around to face him, glaring at him imperiously, and he had a sudden flash of Svetlana in forty years._

_Almost as soon as Gerda had spoken, an enormous roach ran past her foot.  Mickey raised his eyebrows and waited in silence._

_“Alright, alright,”  Gerda raised an orthopedic shoe and stepped on the roach.  “Maybe you have a point,” she looked around with a sigh.  “I have already told you though.  Nothing in this building is up to code. Would cost me a fortune in repairs.  Is not worth it, not for the little money I am getting out of it.”_

_“What does that have to do with you slapping down a little bug spray?”  Mickey demanded._

_Gerda was still looking around her thoughtfully.  “I am thinking fire instead,” she murmured, more to herself._

_“What?”  Mickey demanded._

_“For the insurance payout,”  Gerda snapped impatiently.  “I collect a big fat check and I do not have to do shit for this pile of junk. Besides, have you ever seen the way a nice, big fire really lights up the Chicago skyline?”  her eyes turned dreamy at that._

_“Are you fucking crazy?!  A fire?  I got a baby here, you psychotic old bat!”_

_“This is why you get advance warning,”  Gerda snapped back to her usual acerbic self. “You should pack.”_

_“That's just fucking great!”  Mickey glared at her.  “Where the fuck are we supposed to go?”_

_Gerda’s hand flashed and something hit him in the chest before he finished speaking.  Mickey bent down and picked it up.  It was a key ring, a single key attached._

_“For your new place.  I own other buildings, you know.  Better ones,” Gerda smiled slightly at his surprise.  “You didn’t think I would just give up a good tenant, did you? You’ll like the new apartment.  Much nicer than this shithole.  Also, the storefront below it is for rent too,”  she idly flicked a finger at one of the flyers he and Svetlana had recently printed up.  “Maybe you’ll want to branch out.”_

_“How much?”  Mickey asked suspiciously._

_Gerda shrugged.  “More than you’re paying now.  But I will make you a good deal, providing you keep paying on time and keep your mouth shut when this place goes up in smoke.”_

_“Huh,”  Mickey considered this, twirling the key ring around his finger, still somewhat wary. “You’re not going to kill anyone doing this, right?”_

_Gerda smiled brightly.  “I never have before.”_

 

Gerda had been true to her word, setting up Svetlana and Mickey in their current quarters.  He still remembered how it had felt the first time they’d gone to look at it.  Maybe the place was small and humble by most people’s standards, but to him, it felt like the lap of luxury.  

It was still a two bedroom though, just like the shithole, and Iggy and Colin had had their fill of sleeping on the couch.  Gerda stepped in to help there as well; renting his brothers an apartment in another complex, with reduced rent in return for ‘maintenance’.  What that really meant was that Iggy and Colin played her heavies; if Gerda had a tenant that was troublesome or didn’t pay their rent, she sent the boys over rather than having to go through the long eviction process.  It seemed to be working out for everyone.

Up until Fiona had showed up, he’d been...maybe not happy.  But content.  Grateful for what he had.  Doing his best to not obsess over everything he’d lost.

But now...leave it to the motherfucking Gallaghers to show up on his doorstep and turn everything upside down all over again.  

“Mickey?”  Debbie’s voice was tentative.  Maybe his thoughts were showing too clearly on his face.  Reluctantly, he turned back to her.

“Hey, I have something to show you!”  Debbie dug a notebook out of her pocket.  “I have a ton of ideas for things I can do around here.  I’ve worked out a whole cleaning and cooking schedule that I can do around moving jobs.  Plus, I can work out childcare with you and Svetlana so you’re always covered.  Also, I figure once the heat dies down a little - “ her face clouded slightly before she plunged on.  “Well, I’ll be sixteen in a few months; after that no one can force me to go back, can they?  I’ll have to look into that.  Anyway, that’s not all.  I’ve got so many ideas for the business too; ways to advertise and get more customers, maybe branch out a bit - I mean, you don’t always have to do big jobs, right?  What if someone just needs help moving their tv or rearranging the living room?  That could catch on real quick.  Also, I thought of some ways I can help Yevgeny with his English too.  You know, because he doesn’t speak any?  Yeah, you’ve probably noticed that.  Though it seems like he understands it...weird.   Anyway, I’ll get right on top of that.  And I was thinking I could help Colin too.  You know, with the reading thing?  I mean, he knows his letters, so maybe -”

“Stop!”  The room felt like it was spinning around Mickey and it wasn’t just because Debbie had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room with her mile a minute speech.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?”  Debbie looked bewildered and a bit hurt as Mickey jumped to his feet.

“I’m serious; what is wrong with you?”  Mickey was pacing around her.  “This why you split, Debbie?  Because you’re like - “  he couldn’t finish.  

Debbie continued to look confused for a long moment until she gasped with realization.  “Mickey, no!  I’m not - ”  she shook her head frantically.

“Really?”  Mickey stared her down.  “Talking a mile a minute, making all these plans, doing fucking dumbass shit like running out on your family - this is starting to feel really fucking familiar, Debbie.  Jesus!  I gotta run you down to the clinic too before you go apeshit on me, stay in bed for weeks or take off with my kid?”

“Shut up!”  Debbie jumped off the couch, face red and furious.  “I’m not like Ian!  I’m just trying to show you that I can be useful!”  

“Useful…”  Mickey bent over, hands on his knees as he struggled for breath.  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered to himself.

“Panic much?”  Debbie’s voice was still defensive.  When Mickey couldn’t respond, she moved closer to him, demeanor gentling.  “Mickey, calm down.  I’m sorry I freaked you out.”

“Yeah,”  Mickey finally managed after several more torturous minutes to stand up straight.  “Sorry,” he forced out.  “You just reminded me of…”

“I figured.”  Debbie looked like she was torn between sympathy and still being pissed off.  After a moment, she dropped her hands.  “Not everyone who is bipolar acts the exact same way, you know.”

“Guess not,”  Mickey shrugged.  “You sure, though, that you’re not -?”

“Yes!”  Debbie snapped, looking angry all over again.  “It’s just been a really shitty year,”  Looking suddenly defeated, she sat back down on the couch.

“Yeah.  Tell me about it,”  Mickey watched her as she stared at the floor.

“Get your coat,”  he said abruptly.

“What?”  Debbie stood up, watching Mickey grab his own jacket off the back of the couch and fish his car keys out of his pocket.  “You’re making me leave.   You’re going to dump me somewhere,” she whispered, looking betrayed.

“No, I’m taking you out to lunch,”  Mickey gestured impatiently for her to put her coat on.

Reluctantly, she did so.  “What about Yevgeny?”  

“Svet can watch him,”  Mickey threw open the front door and ushered her in front of him.  

After they’d sent Svetlana upstairs, Mickey drove Debbie to his favorite burger joint.  She was sullen and silent when he ordered for both of them, clearly not believing that he wasn’t preparing to jettison her at the first opportunity.

He was content for them both to stay quiet while they ate; no other sound in the booth other than their simultaneous loud chewing.  It wasn’t until she was halfway through her fries and sucking noisily on her milkshake that Mickey finally spoke.  

“So what’s the deal, Debbie?  Why are you here?”

Debbie’s face immediately clouded and she turned away.  “None of your business.”

“Excuse the fuck outta me, but when you make my apartment your hideout, it becomes my business pretty quick.”

Debbie remained silent for a long moment, until Mickey cleared his throat impatiently.

“I just can’t be there anymore,”  she dropped her remaining fries in the bag and shoved it away from her before crossing her arms over her chest.  She still wasn’t looking at him.  “I’m sick of it.  Everything is so fucked up.  Everybody at school hates me.  And at home…”  she didn’t finish.

“At home what?”  Mickey knew he was verging on dangerous territory for himself, but he kept going anyway.  “You still not getting along with Fiona?  Tired of taking care of Liam?  What did... they,” he nearly tripped over his own tongue trying not to say Ian’s name, “...do to you, Debbie?  What’s so fucking bad that you would just run out on them?”

Debbie stared out the window for a long time.  “It's not anything that any of them did.  It's what they know.  What they see.”

Mickey scratched his head.  “And what do they see?”

Debbie turned towards him and her chin was trembling.  “Me.  The _real_ me. They know I’m not good.  I’m like Frank, or Monica.  I destroy everything I touch.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You don’t know what I did!  I wrecked everything!  I hurt everyone!  My family… Matty… Derek...I even hurt Holly and Ellie. Though they kinda deserved it,”  Debbie had her face in her hands, her words muffled.  Not that it mattered; Mickey didn’t know who all these people were that she was talking about.  Still, the meaning was clear.

“I don’t want anyone to see me like that, not anymore.  I want to be someone else.  Someplace new.  I want to start over.  Please, Mickey,”  she took away her hands.  “Don’t make me go back.”

Mickey sat back against the booth, twirling a straw between his fingers for something to do.

“I haven’t heard from Mandy in almost three weeks,”  he said finally.

“What?”  Debbie looked startled at the change in conversation.

“Don’t know where she is either.  Somewhere in Indiana, still, I guess.  Moved a fuck ton of times.  She stopped telling me where when we showed up one weekend and tried taking a crowbar to the knees of that sack of shit she’s with.  Never answers when I call either.  Sometimes she sends me texts.  But not lately.”

“I’m sorry,”  Debbie whispered after a minute.

“I think I lost her.  And I would do anything to change that.  Bring her back.  But I can't.  And you think you're going to make your entire family feel like that and just walk away?”  Mickey turned blazing eyes on her.  “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“It’s not the same!”  Debbie burst out.

“It’s not, huh?”  Mickey looked at her in disgust. “So you don’t go back.  Then what? This is your life now?  High school drop out turned indentured fucking servant?  Cuz it sounds like that’s what you’re volunteering for.  You want to cook and clean for us, take care of our kid, work under the table… this is your idea of a good time?  A trip to Disneyland?  You got any idea how this is gonna play out?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,”  Debbie nearly snarled, her tear-stained face hardening.

“I’m telling you you’re putting your family through hell for no good fucking reason. You want to continue to be a selfish piece of shit, you go right ahead.  I'll even help you out, exploit you for cheap labor.  And when the novelty wears off and you get bored, you can start fucking the first deadbeat that takes an interest, end up pregnant and wind up on welfare when he leaves you, waiting on the next one to come along and do it all over again.  By the time you wake the fuck up you'll be pushing thirty with a houseful of kids and no father in sight.  No education, no nothing to fall back on.”

Debbie had tears in her eyes, but her expression was furious when she rounded on Mickey.  “And what then?  Finish the story, Mickey!  Tell me how I get hooked on drugs to deal with my miserable life!  How I lose my kids and die in a ditch somewhere.  Isn't that how it ends?  Isn't that what you think of me?”

“No, that's not how it goes,”  Mickey smiled slightly now.  “You’ll fight.  You’ll go back to school, take night classes or go online.  Work double shifts to make it through school and keep food on the table.  Turn it all around, and become a fucking hero to your kids.  And you’ll work your ass off to make sure they don't have to go through what you did.”

Debbie stared at him, open-mouthed.

Mickey smiled grimly.  “After all that time, you think I never saw you?  I did.  I know you.  You're smarter than this.  So you really gonna wait until it's as hard on you as it can possibly get?  Or how about you buck the Gallagher tradition and do things the easy way for once?  Go home, Debbie.  Fix things with the people you love and have a good fucking life.”

“It’s not that easy,”  Debbie whispered.  “I’ve hurt so many people.  They’ll never forgive me.”

“That’s not why you say you’re sorry.  You say it because someone deserves to hear it.”

Debbie looked taken aback at that.  After a moment, she broke the quiet once more.  “Is that what you want from Ian?  For him to say he’s sorry?”

“No!  Jesus -”  Mickey flinched away from her.  “Fucking stop. Don’t talk about him.”

“Why?”  Debbie leaned forward, her damp eyes fixed on him.  “You hate him so much that you can’t even stand to hear his name?”

“I don’t hate - !”  Mickey burst out before he stopped again.  “I’m just trying to keep breathing here, OK?”

He turned away, fumbling with suddenly shaky fingers for his cigarettes, shaking a fresh one out.  It was several drags before he could stand to glance at Debbie once more.  She was watching him steadily, her eyes concerned.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be,”  Mickey flicked ash away impatiently.  “Shit happens.”  

She continued to watch him with those too knowing eyes.  “He’s doing a lot better now.”

“Good for him,”  Mickey couldn’t mask the bitterness.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an employee hurrying over, looking askance at the cigarette in his hand.  He stubbed it out on the table before the guy reached them.

“So, you ready to go back?  Svetlana’s probably wondering where we are,”  he asked her.

Debbie took a deep breath.  “If I asked you to take me home, would you?”

He’d rather eat broken glass than go anywhere near the Gallagher homestead, but Mickey nodded anyway.  “Yeah.”

Debbie smiled as if she exactly what that simple word cost him. “Thanks,”  she stood up.  “Can you take me to the Halsted station instead?”

“If you’re serious about going home, I can drive you,” he protested.

“I know,”  Debbie shot him a faint smile.  “I want to take the train.”  

“You sure?”  At her nod, Mickey continued.  “You gonna stay put this time?  Cuz if you’re just gonna take off again, might as well just fucking stay with us.  It beats the streets.”

Debbie drew her jaw up defensively.  “I’m not going to take off.  I just...I need a little longer.  Besides, I know you don’t want to see Ian, and honestly, I think it’s probably best if he doesn’t see you.”

“Yeah.  Thanks,”  he stood up, following Debbie to the door and outside to the car.  “What about your stuff?”  he asked her while they were climbing in.  “We can stop by to grab it.”  

Debbie shook her head.  “If I don’t go home now, I might not go home at all.”

He could more than understand that.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll have someone drop it off on your porch by morning.”  Gerry would do him the favor, he was sure.

They spent the short ride to the Halsted station in silence.  Mickey insisted on walking Debbie to the platform, making sure she had train fare, and waiting until she was safely boarded.  She turned back just before stepping on.

“Thanks, Mickey, for everything.  Have, um….you know, a good life, or whatever.  You deserve it.”

“Back at you, kid.”

Debbie smiled at that, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and got on the train.

Mickey stood there, watching her disappear further and further into the crowd on the train, until all he could see was the flame of her hair, before he turned to head back to the parking lot.

He had his head down, hoodie up, as he passed a fast moving group going in the opposite direction.  It was the voice that floated back to him that had him freezing in his tracks.

“You sure Simon knew what he was talking about, Fi?  Why would Debbie take the El here?  She doesn’t know anyone in this neighborhood.”

“He was sure it was her he saw getting off here, Ian.  Anyway, we don’t have any other leads.”

Oh God.

Instinctively, Mickey jumped behind the nearest concrete column, peeking around it tentatively.  

Ian looked exactly the same, standing there, talking to Fiona, Lip flanking him on the right.  Still too tall, red hair just a touch too long, pale, and towering over his siblings just the way Mickey remembered.

This couldn’t be happening.

“There’s gotta be security guards around here,”  Lip was saying now.  “Let’s ask; maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yeah, you two do that,”  Fiona nodded, looking worried and distracted.  “I’m gonna call Simon again, see if he has any idea where she could have been going.”

“‘K.  We’ll be right back,”  Lip squeezed her shoulder and then mercifully he and Ian moved in the opposite direction.

Mickey took a deep breath, forcing himself to move.  As Fiona passed him, he fell into step behind her, shooting one last look behind him nervously, making sure the coast was clear.

“She just caught the train home.  If you hurry, you can probably beat her there.”

Fiona whirled around, mouth dropping open in shock as she saw him there.  “Mickey?  What the hell - “  then what he’d just said seem to hit her and her eyes widened.  “Debbie was here all along?  With you?  And you couldn’t even fucking call?!”

Mickey gritted his teeth.  “If you showed up, she just would have taken off again.  She had to be ready to come home.  And don’t put your twisted family shit on me, I didn’t want a fucking thing to do with this.”

The anger and shock was draining rapidly from Fiona’s face, followed by a teary eyed, immense relief.  “Is she really coming home?  You’re sure?”  At Mickey’s nod, tears of relief began to spill down her face. “Oh thank God!  I was so scared... “ she grabbed Mickey’s hand before he could stop her.  “I’m so sorry for biting your head off.  Mickey, thank you so much.  I can’t even -” she broke off, eyes widening at something behind Mickey.

He felt him before he heard him, as if Ian’s presence had an electrical forcefield radiating outward, raising the hairs on Mickey’s arms and causing ripples of shock to cascade over him.

“Guards are fucking useless,”  Ian was calling, still a couple of feet behind Mickey by the sound of it.  “Somebody said there’s a shelter here that a lot of runaways end up at.  Let’s check there.”  

Fiona’s eyes were still locked on Mickey, a pleading expression on her face.  Silently, he shook his head.

“OK,” she whispered, and squeezed his hand one last time before releasing him.

Mickey closed his eyes as she moved past him to waylay Ian.  “It’s OK!”  she cried and the joy in her voice was evident.  “Simon said he just heard from her.  She’s on her way home!”  

There were general exclamations from Lip and Ian at that.  Mickey stayed still, frozen once more, as Ian bounded forward to join his sister.  He was just inches away now.  All Mickey had to do was turn his head to be exposed.  Reach out a hand.

“Come on, let’s get the hell out of here and meet her at home,”  Mickey felt Fiona glance in his direction one more time before she and her brothers moved away.  It wasn’t until Mickey could feel Ian’s presence drain away that he was able to relax.  He even dared to look now, shooting a tentative glance at their disappearing backs.

“Who was that you were talking to?” he heard Ian ask.

“Just a guy who wanted a cigarette,” Fiona answered after a second’s hesitation.  

Yeah.  Just some guy.  

* * *

“What a day, huh?”  Ian asked Fiona coming in to the kitchen as Fiona clicked off her phone.

Fiona sighed heavily.  “I don’t want any more like it.  I’m just so happy she’s home,”  she sat down on the stool in front of the counter with a relieved grunt.  “And so tired.”

“Who was that you were talking to?”  Ian asked, gesturing at the phone.

“Sean,” Fiona set it on the counter.  “Just wanted to thank him for letting me have these last couple of days off.”

“Yeah,”  Ian tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.  “I’m sure he’ll think of a way for you to repay him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ian sighed, leaning forward on the counter.  “Sorry.  I know this is a bad time to bring it up, but have you ever noticed how Sean…”  he trailed off, not sure how to say it.

“Only wants me when he can’t have me?”  Fiona let out a heavy sigh.  “Yeah.  I’d have to say I have noticed that,” she slumped down on her seat.

“Exactly,”  Ian nodded.  “And he’s always...riding to the rescue, playing knight in shining armor.”

“It’s not a bad thing to be there for someone,”  Fiona’s tone was defensive now.

Ian flinched at that, looking away.

“Shit,”  Fiona bit her lip.  “I didn’t mean anything by that, Ian.  You know I wasn’t talking about -”  she stopped and changed the subject back to safer territory.  “Is that why you quit working at the diner?  Because you thought Sean was holding it over my head?”  

Ian nodded.  “Yes,” he admitted honestly.  “Also I was afraid I was gonna deck him the next time he started jerking you around again.”

Fiona smiled reluctantly.  “Thanks.  I appreciate you looking out for me.  I just need to figure out this Sean stuff on my own.”

Ian nodded, squeezing her hand slightly before dropping it.  “Fair enough.  Not like I got room to give anyone advice in that department anyway.”

The guilt coiled in Fiona’s gut at that.  God, it had been so close on that platform - it had only been the desperation in Mickey’s eyes that kept her from revealing his presence.  She still didn’t know if that was the right decision.  

After a few minutes of quiet she took a deep breath and stood up.  “I’m going to talk to Debbie.”

Ian frowned at that.  “Sure you want to do that right now?  Maybe give her the night to settle down a bit.”

“I’ve let too many things go for too long.  No time like the present,”  One last look at Ian to bolster her courage, and Fiona headed upstairs.

“Debbie?”  Fiona knocked and waited for the first barely discernible noise that she could pretend was consent to enter, pushing open the door.

Debbie was sitting up on her bed, laptop open on her lap.  She closed it when she saw her sister.

“Hey,” she muttered quietly, face wary.

“Debbie,”  Fiona mustered all her courage.  “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, sure,”  Debbie didn’t look overly excited by this idea, but she scooted over anyway to make room for Fiona.  

Fiona sat down carefully next to her sister.  “I’m really sorry, Debbie.”

Whatever Debbie had been expecting her to say, it definitely wasn’t that.  She shot Fiona a startled look, but remained silent.

“I…”  Fiona bit her lip before pressing on.  “I knew that you were cutting yourself.  I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do or how to help you.  So I didn’t do anything.  Then, when it all came out…”  she fidgeted with her ponytail restlessly.  “I handled that so badly.  I didn’t mean to push you into a corner.  I want to make things right with you.  I want you to feel like you can come to me and I’m not just going to fly off the handle like that.”

“It’s OK,”  Debbie looked away.

“No, it’s not OK.  But Debbie,”  Fiona pulled at her younger sister’s arm until Debbie turned back to look at her.  “What you’re doing to yourself isn’t OK either.  We gotta do something.”

After a moment, Debbie nodded slowly.  “A psychiatrist?”  she whispered after a moment, her voice expressionless.

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  I made a few phone calls.  Did you know Planned Parenthood offers an after abortion support group?”

Debbie looked up at Fiona, her eyes widening.  “For like, people who feel bad about it?”

Fiona shrugged.  “People who feel any way about it, I guess.  It’s not an easy thing to go through, whatever the circumstances.  I just thought - maybe…”  

She trailed off as she saw Debbie’s face turn a rapid deep red, always a warning sign, before her sister burst into tears.

“Oh, Debs.  Come here,”  To her surprise, Debbie went into her arms willingly, sobbing into Fiona’s chest.  “OK, maybe that wasn’t the best idea -”

“It’s not that,”  Debbie choked. She pulled away from Fiona, swiping at her face.  “I didn’t -”  she broke off, looking away.  “I didn’t really want a baby,” she whispered.  “I just wanted...I don’t know.  I wanted something different.  I was so stupid.  I wish I could take back all last year.  Every stupid thing I did.  I want a do over.  I want this to not be my life,”  she was crying again now.  

Fiona stroked her sister’s hair.  “Believe me, I know how you feel,” she said quietly.  “There’s so much I wish I could take back too.  And maybe if I’d been there for you more; not been so distracted by Gus and Sean and Jimmy - “ she broke off.  “There’s no point in trying to wish away the mistakes we made in the past.  We can’t go back, not any of us.  It happened, all of it.  All we can do is try and forgive ourselves and maybe not pull the same stupid shit in the future.”

She pulled back slightly so she could look Debbie in the eyes.  “You’re right at the beginning of your story and you’re treating it like it’s the end.  It’s not.  It’s just another chapter.  You’ve got a whole book to write still.”

Debbie wrinkled her nose, tears beginning to slow.  “Where did you pick up that one, Platitudes R Us?”

Fiona snorted.  “It does sound like bullshit, doesn’t it?  But maybe it’s not.  I guess that’s up to you.”

Debbie wiped her eyes again, nodding slowly.  “I’m sorry too, Fiona.  For everything.”

“You’d better be,” Fiona dusted off her jeans and stood up.  “You scared the shit out of me, Debbie, running off like that.  Anything could have happened to you out there!”

“It didn’t,”  Debbie frowned.  “I was fine.”

“Yeah, thanks to Mickey Milkovich.  I really owe him one now.”  

Debbie gasped at that.  “How did you -” she broke off, lowering her voice.  “Does Ian know?”

Fiona shook her head.  “No, and it’s gotta stay that way.”  

Debbie frowned.  “Yeah but doesn’t that seem...kinda wrong?  Fiona, they still love each other.”

Fiona slumped against the doorway.  “Yeah.  I know.  Problem is, sometimes that’s just not enough,” she sighed, kicking the doorjamb with her foot.  At Debbie’s doubtful expression, she straightened up.  “Mickey doesn’t want Ian to know.  After everything he’s done for us, we owe him at least the courtesy of respecting that.”

Debbie sighed, flopping down on her bed to bury her face in her pillow.  “Love sucks.  And boys are stupid,” she groaned into it.  

Fiona couldn’t help but chuckle.  “You’re not wrong, Debs.  You are really not wrong.”

***

Debbie enjoyed a late start the next morning, courtesy of Fiona, who’d informed her with a wink and a smile that she’d told the high school that her sister had the flu to cover for her disappearance, so Debbie couldn’t show up now and blow their story.  

After a long sleep in, she stumbled into the silent kitchen to make herself some breakfast.  She was just pouring herself cereal when Fiona’s cell phone she’d left at home in case Debbie needed anything, went off.  Her eyes widened when she saw the caller id and she grabbed it quickly.

“Carl?  I thought you lost your phone privileges!”

“Did,” Carl sounded cranky.  “My counselor made a one time exception due to my dire family circumstances.  Like needing to check on my psycho sister after Fiona called here saying you were missing and wanting to know if I'd heard from you.  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Debbie bit her lip.  “Sorry,” she sighed.  “I just...fucked up.  I'm back now, I promise.  I won’t leave again.”

“Good. Don't,”  Carl still sounded irritated. “I got enough to worry about in here without you pulling this shit.”

“I know,” Debbie leaned against the counter. “Carl, you gotta stop getting into fights or they're never going to let you come home.”

“Yeah, well, that's kinda hard when everyone in here wants a piece of me,”  Carl grumbled.  “I need to figure out how to get back on top, make people afraid of me again.  Then they’d fucking leave me alone.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that,”  Debbie traced a pattern on the countertop with her finger, thinking hard, before a slow smile spread across her face.  “But I’ll bet I know someone who can…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much appreciated every single one of your comments and encouragement. Real life has been seriously interfering with my writing time, but I'm going to do my best to keep getting these chapters out to you guys. And I hadn't originally intended this to be a season 6 AU, but the more disappointed I am by spoilers, the more my headcanons grow. So, I'm not promising that everything that happened in season 5 will be resolved by this fic, but Season 6 AU it is. 
> 
> Be sure to tune in next time to find out how Mickey reacts to the realization that the Gallaghers aren't even close to being done with him yet. Also, Beto shows up for dinner, Ian lashes out, Dan makes his interest in Mickey plain, and Liam continues to be very, very quiet. 
> 
> I very much would appreciate any feedback at all. Thanks you guys for keeping me writing after all this time.
> 
> A very special thanks to Zebrawallpaper, who keeps my head and heart in the game. Couldn't do it without you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading - feedback very much appreciated.
> 
> I can be found at http://avalonia320.tumblr.com/


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